


rhythmicity

by taonsils (mirokkuma)



Category: EXO (Band), GOT7
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Depression, F/F, F/M, Gender Dysphoria, Genderswap, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 03:35:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4506216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirokkuma/pseuds/taonsils
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that Zitao feels <i>sad</i> exactly. Just kind of off balance. Gross, as he said, and that's the best way he's found to describe it so far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rhythmicity

**Author's Note:**

> written for [girlexochange](http://girlexochange.livejournal.com) on lj. [Here](http://www.nhs.uk/conditions/Gender-dysphoria/Pages/Introduction.aspx) is some information about gender dysphoria, but if you have any questions about any of the subjects in here please do ask! I can be found on the [tumbl](taonsil.tumblr.com) or the [tweeter](https://twitter.com/taonsil).  
> Super huge thank yous to tori for looking at this despite not being in the fandom, my Jongdae for looking at this despite not being interested, MC for cheerleading and letting me vent, and especially cat for getting so involved in this 'verse and fighting me when required ♥

"I can just take the subway if we're going to be late."

"We won't, I'll be five minutes."

"You said that ten minutes ago," Zitao points out as he perches on the edge of the bed, leaning around to continue watching Junmi digging through the clothing strewn on the floor. Maybe it's something about having a high pressure job that just makes her entirely useless with time keeping. She arrives for meetings pristine and before time, but most often because Zitao has been back-up alarm clock and nudged her to leave out everything she needs the night before.

Plucking out the last item of clothing that looks like it could be the sweater she's after and finding it to be the leg of cable knit tights, Junmi gives in to defeat and flops over the side of the bed. "I want to drive you there," she pouts, "It's the least I can do when I bullied you into making the appointment. We'll be on time."

Zitao's lips purse tight.

"I promise. Five minutes." She leans to drop a kiss to Zitao's hair once she's back on her feet. Technically that's time wasting too, but Zitao can probably let it slide. "Even if I have to drive you there in my bra."

"No, just," Zitao flails a hand at her. She probably would. "Just wear one of mine if you can't find yours."

The closet they share is easily big enough to accommodate both of their clothing, but it's gradually being taken over by Zitao's as no more than Junmi's work outfits tend to find their way back in there on a regular basis. "I'll be less than five minutes," Junmi amends as she digs a hand into the stack of folded sweaters to make a blind grab for one that feels thick and warm.

Zitao leans over the mirror propped on top the set of drawers and tugs at his cheeks. "I don't wanna go anyway," he says, watching his features move. Junmi had said no make up, not even the usual smudge and dusting he wears to work to make his smile twice as effective and his eyes shine. He's pretty sure he owes half of his commission earnings to eyeliner. But she said this was serious, not the time to try and cover anything up. Zitao doesn't really see why the kind of covering up bb cream does is a terrible thing, but ok.

"It's nothing to worry about." Junmi nudges him over to check her reflection and tug the loose neckline into shape, then gently steers him away from the mirror and towards the hallway. Zitao isn't trying not to scowl as he slips into his shoes. Junmi rests a hand on his thigh to balance herself as she does the same. "In my profession it's completely normal to go and have a check up once in a while."

"In your profession someone jumps off a building every other week. I fold Tshirts and model jewellery, I don't think they're going to take it seriously." Zitao doesn’t mean to whine, but he's not comfortable about this appointment. Junmi isn't comfortable either, though, with the way his mood has been plummeting recently. He's always been prone to late night bouts of sadness and easy tears, but she's probably right that it's been getting more frequent, more heated, more irrational. Zitao doesn’t know much about depression, or if he thinks he has it, but he supposes it would be nice if someone could explain why it sometimes feels like a light inside him has been flickering out.

"I just want you to feel back to your usual self, Taozi." She frowns, and he frowns back. Junmi is bare-faced, too, but her skin always seems to have more of a glow than his. If she didn't look so serious he'd be tempted to touch, but the moment passes and she's reaching to rub at his shoulder. "Just try? I hate seeing you get so down."

"How do I explain that I have a really nice life but I just feel gross a lot?" he asks, and she leans to peck his cheek. It's not so far to stretch when she has her shoes on, but they're barely going to make it in time if they don't leave _right_ now, so Zitao leans up higher, making himself a little more out of reach. "It's embarrassing," he grumbles, "And I'm gonna miss it if we don't go now."

Junmi nods — she knows, she really knows; you don't not know when you cut time as finely as she always does — and takes her car keys in one hand and Zitao's wrist in the other.

"I think a lot of people are in the same position, though," she says while they wait for the elevator, "There wouldn't be people that specialise in this stuff if people knew why they felt sad."

 

 

It's not that Zitao feels _sad_ exactly. Just kind of off balance. Gross, as he said, and that's the best way he's found to describe it so far.

 _i have my appointment thing rn can we meet up after?? i'll buy you food_ he texts Jackson from slouched down low in the passenger seat. Junmi has a non-negotiable lunch date with her mother, and Zitao doesn't really feel like being left alone to think about whatever the doctor is going to give him to think about. It's only their usual surgery; the one Zitao went to with a fever one time, and again when he hurt his knee in a _very_ seriously important competition with Jackson. He hadn't known they did head things too.

There's no available parking outside the building, so Junmi just pulls up at the entrance and shoos Zitao out after leaning over to kiss him goodbye. Zitao promises to text once he's done, reminds Junmi to do something with her hair so her mom doesn't see she's had the undercut buzzed again, and pushes the door shut on her squawking about being an adult and living her own life.

 

 

Despite how regularly Zitao threatens to block Jackson everywhere and find a new, better friend (best friends are so easy to replace, really, he only hasn't done it yet because he's too busy) he's good and reliable for showing up when called on. Even when there isn't a promise of food, but he looks pretty content sitting behind a drink and two pastries from the counter when Zitao locates his seat.

"Dude," Jackson drops his hand from a wave to clear space on the table for the leaflets Zitao's holding. "I thought he was going to tell you what was wrong, not make you diagnose yourself. I got you a drink already," he adds, nudging one of the tall cups towards Zitao. His hand forms a protective barrier around the plate. "Both of these are mine though."

"I can't even read what half of these are about." Zitao sinks down opposite him and melts out across the table. Jackson gives him a pat with sugary fingers. "But he said I should take a look at them."

Jackson gives him a sympathetic pout, then starts picking almond slivers from the top of his second pastry. "What else happened? Didn't he tell you why you've been so hormonal recently?"

Zitao scowls and kicks him under the table. It had been a pretty brief appointment — Junmi spent longer trying to get through to the surgery and secure a day than he was actually in the room. The man he saw looked tired and uninterested, explained to him about chemicals in the brain with his fingers steepled and his chair reclined and Zitao hadn't liked to say that he didn't know some of those words. Medication had been his first suggestion, said like it was so easy. Like Zitao shouldn't be alarmed.

"He said he's referring me to someone else. To talk more and stuff. I dunno." Zitao swirls his drink before taking a sip. It's lukewarm and sweet. He'd said it didn't matter if the alternative was costly, because really, it doesn't. He'd like to not have to keep trying out white noise apps to fill his head with fuzz instead of thoughts on nights Junmi works. He'd really like for Junmi to stop having to come home tired and then treat a night in with him like it's more hard work.

Jackson shrugs. "Sucks." Zitao nods and gulps down more milky caramel. "I'm here for you and shit though."

"Yeah." It's easier like this sometimes. Zitao isn't one to shy away from talking about himself, but Jackson's 'talk, hug, eat, move on' technique can be pretty effective when Zitao would otherwise dwell. "I know. But shut up a minute, I promised Mi I'd text."

"Charming," Jackson says as he starts tearing his pastry into chunks. "You're a terrible date." He pops a lump into his mouth, then stuffs a second one in after it. His cheeks fill when he asks, "Was the mom visit today?"

Zitao tugs his phone out of his pocket and taps it alive. "Yeah. She hasn't seen Mi since she went blonde. I said she should like, maybe style her hair so the shaved parts aren't so noticeable, but.." From the notifications, all emoji, all red, blue, yelling or crying, he can probably safely assume that she didn't.

 

 

Junmi has a good relationship with her mother in all areas but one. Mama Kim is proud of Junmi's career, the home she's bought, the life she's building. Any initial wariness she felt towards Zitao softened after the first six months, and almost four years on she treats him no different to the rest of the family (dinner invites, kisses on the cheek, passive-aggressive reminders that nice boys don't wear jeans that tight and torn).

Zitao arrives home to the tv on and all the lights off, Junmi's Vans kicked aside in the hall and a Junmi shaped blanket pile on the couch. He wonders if she's asleep, but when he flicks the lights on the blankets start to grumble and shift.

"How did it go?" he ventures as he toes out of his shoes.

Junmi's hand emerges from under the blankets to gesture irritatedly. "You'd think I've never achieved _anything_ in my life for how much fuss she makes about how I look," she says over the sound of a kitchen full of competitors on the tv. "I mean yeah, when I was seventeen she could complain about it. But I'm an adult! I just got promoted! I put my posters in frames!"

Zitao steps around to dump his pile of leaflets on the coffee table and turn the volume down on the tv. Then he locates Junmi's legs in the blankets so he can lift them and sidle in underneath, laying them across his lap. "What did she say?"

"Usual," Junmi huffs, "'You look like a boy with that haircut, take pride in your appearance, why are you wearing that—'"

"Why _are_ you still wearing that?" Zitao's clothing doesn't exactly fit Junmi. She's narrow and sinewy, distinction between limbs and ribs and sweater pretty much lost in lumpiness. It looks cute, he thinks, but he can't remember when he's ever seen her mother not looking like she's about to attend some glamorous event.

"It's comfortable. And yours," Junmi peers over the edge of the blanket to give Zitao a look, anger softened. "And I was glad for that. I hate it when she brings our relationship into it."

Zitao shrugs and starts rubbing a thumb over her ankle. "Because your boyfriend spends more time on his make up than you do?" It's kind of funny sometimes. They've had many memorable well-intentioned complaints from Mama Kim that are easy to look back on and laugh, but Junmi's face is a thunder cloud.

"Because she says you won't— don't like it. You're just, like, nice, and pretend, and no guys are really ok about.." she trails off and gestures to her hair, her bare face. Zitao's sweater, her Vans in the hall. _Everything_. "She always thinks she knows best, she doesn't understand us. Or you, or me."

Zitao makes a sympathetic sound and pats the blankets a little higher up. "You know she's not right, even if she thinks she is."

Zitao's never been too sure that being with Junmi means he's attracted to girls, and rather than take that as an issue Junmi has always enjoyed the freedom it offers. He loves Junmi because she's Junmi, and he loves her unwaveringly, even if she can beat him three out of five at arm wrestling. Jackson described Junmi as butch after meeting her for the first time, but Zitao's never really been sure he fully understood the connotation. He's never really been sure it even bothers him at all that they attract the odd comment sometimes, Junmi small and boyish, Zitao's eyes perfectly winged and jewellery glittering.

He'd call his draw to women more of an interest than an attraction; nothing his friends in highschool or at work have described really sits comfortably. To their annoyance (to Jackson's continued annoyance) it's often him that has the majority of female attention, but he figures it's because he actually takes an interest. He can compliment his store's regular customers on their outfits and changes of hairstyle, discuss their colours and for when and why they're making their purchase without veering to the subject of what it matters to a male view.

His first unofficial girlfriend taught him everything he knows about make up. They kissed once, candy pink lipgloss to a deep scarlet lipstain, but she seemed a lot more keen on discussing their mutual crush on that guy from the basketball team than him learning how to do it again and better. Mama Kim has never heard any of this, though, and Mama Kim _always_ knows best.

"Anyway. I'm sorry." Junmi squirms upright and presses the heels of her palms to her eyes. Zitao shakes off the memories and shakes his head. "I was expecting it, it doesn't really matter. Your day was more important. You didn't say much in your text."

Oh, right. Zitao shrugs and gestures to the leaflets on the table. "Yeah, uh. Can you help with the reading he gave me? There's too many words I don't recognise."

Junmi nods after scrubbing at her eyes. "Of course." She reaches to pull the nearest one over, unfolding it and skimming. Zitao watches, but her expression doesn't falter. "But these look like they're just facts and statistics. Didn't he have anything else to say?"

"That I could have medication or go see someone to talk to, so I said I'd do the talking thing. He didn't seem very interested. He looked like a frog."

Junmi looks as unfazed as Jackson had. Zitao supposes in her work she must know plenty of people who have taken the first option. Her smile is warm and sweet, though, and doesn't make Zitao feel like he made a bad choice. "Lets get comfortable and look through these." Her touch is warm, too, a reassuring pressure on his shoulder, a squeeze to the nape of his neck.

 

For a mostly bad day it winds down to a good end. Warm drinks and Junmi's soft voice, her fingers in Zitao's hair. Nothing in the leaflets particularly resounds with Zitao, though. He matches one or two lines from each, he supposes. But he can match one or two lines from each to anyone if he tries hard enough. Jackson's an emotional eater; Jungin from the store next to his that shares their break room has long periods of not talking; Sehun has an irrationally short fuse over minor issues at work. Junmi's mother would probably be happy to place something from the list as to why Junmi is unable to stop herself from using the floor as a convenient place to put absolutely everything.

Junmi pauses for a mouthful of hot chocolate to soothe her throat from all the reading out before starting on the last one. "Does any of this sound like it might be relevant, baby?" she asks gently. Zitao scrunches his nose.

"I guess maybe a little." He shrugs and turns his mug in his hands. "What kind of things do you think I'll have to talk about? Because if they ask about stuff like this I won't know what to say." When Junmi asks why he's angry or upset he doesn't know. Gross, he says. I feel icky. I'm going rotten inside. I don't know.

"Just be honest," she says patiently. "It'll be easier with someone who knows what they're doing."

 

 

˘

 

Zitao's first appointment ( _session_ , he's corrected at the desk when he steps up with the email open on his phone) is scheduled quickly, the following Tuesday after work. Good, Junmi had said, she's free all afternoon if he wants to go out somewhere after.

 _ice cream_ he texts between his new therapist's door closing shut on his small wave goodbye and approaching the desk to book in for the following week. Junmi forwards him directions before the receptionist has even confirmed a date. Zitao's pretty sure he should marry her or something.

 

"Why is he here." Zitao slings his bag around from his shoulder and drops it neatly in Jackson's face. It's a perk of his job that he gets discounts; throwing $400 worth of bag at your best friend is a good mood lifter. Jackson takes more care steering it down onto the bench than protecting himself.

"Junmi said she'd pay," he says. Junmi leans over to slap down the hand pointing accusingly at her.

"Because we love you and he wanted to check on you after your first appointment."

"It's called a session," Zitao tells them both as he wedges himself between them. He and Jackson came as a pair when Junmi met him; she's never had a bad word to say about the addition of an annoying little brother to her life, and Jackson warmed to her pretty soon after declaring a ceasefire on his war against whoever dared to come between his and Zitao's date nights. Those were _tradition_.

"Well, we thought you might want cheering up after your first session, then. Right?" Junmi leans around to Jackson and scrunches her nose as Jackson expectantly meets her. He's been fidgeting for the past five minutes trying to convince her that Zitao really wouldn't mind if they got theirs first. "And I did say I'd pay."

The simple fact that Zitao slouches down and out of participation in ice cream flavour debate is enough to make Junmi think his session was maybe as bad as he'd been anticipating. Zitao's looked so worn down by the last few weeks of interrogation, she'd hoped this would be a little relief from it. It must be bad if the idea of a sundae offer isn't interesting him.

Subtlety has never been too stronger of a point with Junmi. Zitao gives her a look when she starts fumbling. Jackson is briefly horrified and then intrigued by Junmi's purse when it's pushed into his hands, nominating him to get their orders in. It was a gift from Zitao and looks a lot more like something he'd be seen carrying than someone high up in finance. The skulls upset stuffy old men at conferences she explains, pleased, and then shoos Jackson away.

Zitao waits until he's almost at the counter before turning to Junmi. "Don't fuss over me," he warns, folding his arms tight across his chest. If he's trying to look stern and moody it's definitely edging more on petulant, but Junmi knows how he is. So Junmi nods sincerely, even though they both know he wants to mean it more than he really does. "It wasn't awful or anything. She's really nice. Her voice is nice. We talked a lot." He makes a face. "She said we'd need to talk more. And I have to write things down."

"Ah," is all Junmi replies, nodding again.

"Feeling gross is pretty full time. I didn't realise I'd have homework." Zitao sighs, puffs out his cheeks. He raises his hands and drops them back into his lap, and Junmi's left inches over his right. "She wanted me to list good and bad things," he continues, watching Junmi's fingers playing with his rings. "And there weren't really any bad. She didn't seem bothered though."

"Are you?"

"Kinda." It makes him uneasy, the thought that there may be no answer. Maybe his life is just going to be like this now — sitting in bright, noisy, cheerful atmospheres and feeling this glum. Maybe he'll just feel icky inside forever. He doesn't have to think on it too hard to recognise the feeling as having been with him a long, long time.

Junmi sounds a thoughtful hum beside him. "First time is kind of just an introduction though, huh." She'd decided from the start that she'd be happy to support Zitao through whatever he needed to figure this out, but for now not pushing seems like what'd benefit him most. She's only had her head on his shoulder for a few moments before he warns her that Jackson is on his way back, but he sounds a little less drawn tight for the comfort.

"Break it up," Jackson says as he steps around their feet with three ice cream cups clutched to his chest and Junmi's purse tucked under his arm. "Tao, I got your three favourites," he says with a glance to the most colourful cup, "But I hope you know eating them combined makes you a monster."

Zitao tuts as he reaches for the cup and spoon. "You guys are just boring."

"Monster," Jackson reiterates while he's standing over Zitao as Junmi takes her icecream and purse out of his arms.

"You're unrefined," Zitao says dismissively before shovelling in a scoop of glowing orange and purple, too busy deciding what to take a bite of next to see Junmi and Jackson exchange smiles either side of him.

 

 

˘

 

"Is your therapist nice?" Jungin asks before she's even pulled up a seat.

Zitao blinks at her, stunned. _Sehun_. What a dick. "Uh. Yeah, she's nice."

"That's good. I had two." Jungin tugs her chair closer to Zitao and glances around furtively despite them evidently being the only people in the break room. "The first one was really bad. She only made a set amount of appointments and then she just made all this stuff up and told me I felt it. Yours isn't like that?"

"No, she's ok." Zitao's been twice so far, more relaxed the second time. He likes her, doesn't feel pressured or like he's wasting her time by still having a Happy Things list that far outweighs any childhood traumas or bad relationships. She wears nice jewellery and Zitao tries to mimic the way she delicately folds her hands when he gets bored of listening. "I dunno if I'll go for much longer though, we're not really getting anywhere."

"Maybe you should get a dog," Jungin suggests. Zitao tilts his head curiously, his earrings softly clinking with the motion, but Jungin doesn't look at him as though she's just said something out of place. Jungin's just like that, though. She spends a lot of time scuttling around and talking with her focus in the distance, if her mouth is working at all. When she wants to talk she doesn't often partake in mutual conversation, jittering and busying her hands. Right now she's rocking back and forth. Just gently, rhythmically.

"My girlfriend's family kept hers when she moved out," Zitao offers, thankful for the abrupt change of subject. "We miss him."

"Dogs can help." Jungin hasn't touched the lunch bag she brought with her — not until now, just to roll it back up. Her breaks finish ten minutes before Zitao's. Zitao's going to make good use of those ten minutes to track Sehun down and stab him with a brooch pin from that display he's spent all morning fawning over. "Your earrings are really pretty, by the way," Jungin says as she stands.

"Oh." Zitao reaches to touch one lightly, lifting it on his fingertips for Jungin to see. "Thanks, I haven't worn them before."

They're an indirect gift from Junmi's mother — surrounded by family at the time, Junmi had no choice but to accept the box politely and with enough acting to have Zitao smiling behind a hand. They were for her promotion and hang down long and heavy with glittering stones. Once they'd left the gathering Junmi treated herself to take out and Zitao's propensity for shameless enthusiasm when petted and praised, and Zitao didn't have to ask twice if he could keep the box in return. He's always been more into shiny things than her.

Jungin has a smile worth waiting for. Zitao's often wondered how she deals with customer service when she's so skittish around people, but perhaps she just smiles and that resolves any issues. "I think you look beautiful," Jungin tells him before she's out the door, and Zitao's not sure the smile reached his face in time for Jungin to see.

The word sends something hot and sharp through his stomach, settling warm and powering him through his afternoon shift with a smile for everyone and a spring in his step.

Zitao's always appreciative of compliments, whether about his appearance, work manner, talent at sports or anything else. _Beautiful_ stays with him for the rest of the day, makes his lips curl when he's in bed that night. The next day he adds that to his happy list: Jungin called me beautiful and I felt nice inside. He buys Jungin a juice box with a cartoon dog on the packaging, too.

Jungin hides her face behind her sleeves when she finds it on the break room counter with a note.

 

 

˘

 

Junmi isn't always the most intuitive of people, and with Zitao not always the best at expressing himself it's not all that hard for them to occasionally miss the mark. Zitao is just happy to have her home at a decent time and hadn't noticed anything off about their conversation at all until Junmi suddenly butts her head against his shoulder and announces that she's not planning to talk for the rest of the evening.

"Is everything ok?" Zitao frowns and nudges her.

Junmi shrugs and starts to chin at his shoulder instead. "I just realised that whenever I do get home early enough for us to spend the evening together all I do is complain about work." She pouts. "And how much time I'm going to have to spend there when I go back."

Zitao's frown deepens. Admittedly he has been getting a little dozy over the last five minutes, but he was paying attention. He doesn't understand a lot of the actual work she does, but he's always taken an interest in the office drama and how busy she's been. Junmi loves her job even if she does have a lot to say about the unfair hours (those hadn't mattered before she met Zitao, is the problem). "I don't mind?"

She gives her head a little shake. Of course he'd say that. Truthfully, she doesn't doubt. "I just worry that I might be part of the problem. You have enough of your own to worry about without me complaining all the time."

"I really don't mind," Zitao insists. He misses Junmi like crazy when things get busy and she has to live in her office, sure, but she's.. She's wonderful to him. They just have to make the most of the time they do get. Which is a little far and few between, really, but it's not her fault. "I get kinda sad. That it's like this, but not with you."

Junmi puffs out her cheeks. Not much more she can say to that. "Still sorry," she mumbles into his shoulder when he pulls her in. She's seen what he's written on his list of unhappy things, and she doesn't feature very heavily. But then he knows she's likely to read it. But then Zitao is far from prone to dishonesty, so she leaves it at that.

Zitao's attention is already back on the tv, so she just gives in to the pull of his arm around her shoulders. Falling asleep comfortable against his side is easily the best part of her week so far.

 

 

˘

 

"Are you going to mope the whole time you're here?"

"I'm not moping." Zitao looks indignant. He also doesn't look up at Sehun, because his eyes will be sad and then Sehun will bitch at him. "I'm concentrating."

Sehun hums thoughtfully and jabs the tip of his pen into Zitao's side. "Strange how you've only been concentrating so hard since your girlfriend texted."

"Go away."

Zitao wouldn't call Sehun one of his closest friends, but he's probably at least in the top three. Of three. They're just more friends by circumstance — they go out together after work sometimes, spend evenings watching shows they both like that no one else does. Sometimes Sehun talks about the crush he's been nursing for months on his hairdresser, Jongdae, as though the evidence of his visits isn't obvious (and currently an oddly flattering shade of peachy pink), but flatly refuses any advice on the subject.

Today Zitao just visited so they could get through the handwritten flyers for the store's upcoming sale faster, and so Sehun can keep an eye on his writing to make sure it's legible.

"What did she say, anyway?" Sehun asks when Zitao doesn't respond to prodding.

Zitao had decided when he got the text that he wouldn't talk about it, because once he starts he finds it hard to stop. But, well, he's been asked now. "That she can't come home tonight. Bucheon isn't even _that_ far, it's like an hour. She has to go there all the time and she always stays over." Stopping now would be good, but the injustice of Junmi's job never will. "It's not fair. She always says like, like, no, next time maybe I can come back, but it never works out. And like lots of nights she has to stay at work until past midnight anyway, so some weeks she's barely home."

Jackson finds Zitao's clinginess sort of endearing and offers sympathy when he's without Junmi. He understands that Zitao is both grossly in love and has moods, at the least, and that being alone makes them hit harder. Sehun just looks somewhat disgusted.

"Must be nice to get the place to yourself," he offers, and when Zitao looks ready to slump over the desk tries: "Well tell her she's being shitty."

Zitao huffs. "She's not. I know it's impractical to come back just to leave again, I just.."

"She is if you've told her you don't like it and she doesn't change anything. Sounds shitty to me."

"It's not like that. She works way harder than anyone else I know." Feeling aggravated and defensive ( _he_ can complain about Junmi, but fuck if he's going to let Sehun talk badly of her), Zitao finishes up his half of the papers entirely unresponsive to Sehun's further attempts at conversation and leaves.

He's regretting the abrupt exit before he's even home. Really he could have done with the company, because trudging around 7-11 just to avoid being in an empty room is only a temporary solution.

 

 

Zitao reviews his Happy Things list after writing _I don't want to sleep alone_ in the column beside it. The balance between sides is still hugely uneven, and Zitao feels as though the highs are growing more intense, the lows deeper than ever. That's not a happy thing at all, but instead of making note of it he decides burying down in bed with his phone is a better course of action.

Junmi probably had to pack a few things hurriedly during her lunch break and that's why he finds the bed buried under near every item of clothing she owns — that or she'd been trying to sort laundry. Zitao is tempted to just burrow in underneath it all, but the small amount of productivity in folding clothes and getting them somewhat in order turns out to feel rewarding enough that he gets through the lot. He's even rewarded with the discovery of some of his own long-lost things wound in with hers.

She looks cute in his clothes. She wears them at home, the ones that aren't too expensive, the ones that are warmer and softer and more comfortable than her own. She nuzzles into them and says happy things about how they're his, and Zitao's never really seen the opposite of this romanticised, but after a thoughtful moment of plucking blonde strands from the shoulders of his shirts decides he'd really like some happy things right now.

Junmi is far, far smaller than him and the search for anything that won't get stretched out across his shoulders is a long one. The one item he lands upon that looks workable is a Christmas sweater, and it's so ugly but she was so thrilled to find it. And it smells like her, feels familiar, and that's what matters.

The patterned strip sits far higher on Zitao's chest, the sleeves a tad too short rather than flopping down to his fingertips. The seams all feel in the wrong places and the neck is weird, and it takes a lot of twisting and shimmying for him to feel as though he's properly in.

This all seems like it was a really bad idea while he's struggling, but once the struggle is over it feels like it actually might be the best idea he's had in a long time.

He hasn't replied to Junmi's text yet, more from annoyance with Sehun than because he's being petulant with her, but in apology he spends upward of five minutes writing to her about how his day has been, I hope you've had a good day too, 7-11 had an offer on that ramen we buy. Guess what I'm wearing.

 _Tao I'm in company (/__\\)_ she replies to that, _if this is about what you're not wearing I'm putting this on silent_

Zitao laughs long and loud at that, flopped back on the bed and grinning up at his phone with affection. He flips the camera and holds his phone out with both hands, low enough to capture the full patterned front of the sage green sweater with it's reindeers and snowflakes. He takes another, aimed higher this time. He smiles, winks, and Junmi's responses come through fast and misspelt and have him giggling into his pillow.

 

_I have to get back to work now Taozi. Have a good night, sleep well, I love you :)))_

_加油!!! REMEMBER TO EAT SMTH i love you+++++_

Zitao's smile fades long before the warmth in his chest. He's ok. This is ok. Being alone is still most definitely not one of his favourite occupations, but he's ok.

"Alright," he says to himself for motivation, and after a groan at the exertion makes it up out of bed. He can do his face while a drama episode loads on his phone, then spend a nice distracted few hours watching until he falls asleep.

When he leans toward the mirror with a jar of moisturizer in hand it takes a moment for his eyes to fall to the neckline of the sweater. It doesn't fit anything like his own do, shoulder seams and arms a little too small and angular. It's funny, how his usual silhouette is suddenly unfamiliar. Huh.

Curious, Zitao pads out to the hall to their full length mirror, straightening up and presenting himself in front of it. It really is such an ugly sweater. And beneath it is the same old body he's spent his whole life in, but it doesn't look quite the same right now. Zitao frowns, turns, lifts the hem, smoothes his hands down the front. It's just an illusion of the cut, he knows, but it feels like everything in his body has lurched out of place, and when it settles, it settles more comfortably than it had been before.

 

 

Zitao anticipates the silent treatment he gets from Sehun the next day. It's not really a big enough store to keep much of a distance in, though, and Sehun may not be the most conversational person but he doesn't enjoy ignoring Zitao if he's not going to have the decency to be put out by it.

Zitao has felt pretty serene since last night, though, and it's lingering. How he felt, it could definitely be concerning if he let it be. But for now he's just enjoying the peace; it's been so long since he's felt this comfortable with the whole existing thing.

"Fat ass," Sehun greets him after just about a full half hour of displeased, unnoticed looks from across the room. "You look a lot happier than you did last night. Her plans change?"

Zitao raises his head towards Sehun's voice but doesn't look away from the necklace chains he's reorganising into a display. He wore a little glitter on his eyelids today and got a sale from the higher price tier in his first hour — this being pretty thing works well for him. "No, she still worked late. She had time to text for a while."

"Gross," Sehun says after measuring how pleased Zitao looks about that. "I don't get why you two are together," he adds when Zitao doesn't respond, but he doesn't look too put out by that either. A lot of people who know a little about them say that. Zitao stopped getting offended when he realised it didn't matter.

"We're ok. It's difficult sometimes with work and stuff, but we're ok."

Sehun shrugs and starts twisting the cord on his lanyard. In a lot of ways Sehun is what Zitao would classify as his type, judging by his previous crushes. He's broad and big and almost pretty, in a slightly off kind of way. Shame about his personality. "You want to settle down when you're older, y'know. You'll regret it when you realise you've been stuck with one person your whole life."

Zitao mirrors the shrug. He wouldn't deny that Jackson is no less happy than he is for having a lot of fun and only a little commitment, nor that waiting at home for someone to come out of board meetings wasn't how he'd envisaged spending his early twenties. He feels too content today to even bother arguing about it when he knows he's sure of how at least that aspect of his life is working out, though. "I was just sad last night."

"Hormonal." Sehun's insults are always too lazy to carry any bite. Zitao just waves him off, smiling.

 

 

The problem may be that Zitao was so content with how the other day made him feel that he's getting a little too caught up in not feeling it. Grocery shopping on a Sunday afternoon isn't exactly a pressing attendance, but Junmi's been ready for twenty minutes already and Zitao.. Zitao is right back where he started. Sitting on the edge of the bed in the sweatpants he slept in. The only difference is how much of the contents of his side of the closet have joined him there.

"Taozi, if we don't get going soon I'm going to lose motivation and just come back to.." Junmi pauses in the doorway, head raised from her phone. "..bed. Baby, are you ok?"

Zitao nods, but he's not sure his expression does much to assure her that no, he hasn't just been sitting here zoned out for the past ten minutes. It's still unsettling, not feeling entirely present in yourself. "None of my clothes are nice," he offers as explanation. "I mean, they are. But I can't find the right thing."

"What are you looking for? I might have seen it." Junmi takes a step towards where the majority of her clothing is hooked and stacked on a chair, but Zitao making a weak grab for her draws her back. She gives him a look, neutral because worrying would make him feel bad, and he just shrugs.

"Like," he says after a long moment, and then nothing more comes for as long as it takes Junmi to shuffle in between his legs and card her fingers through his hair. It's just one of those days — A sad day. A cloudy day. Zitao's shoulders sag with a sigh before he follows the gentle pressure of her hand, and he tries again with his mouth pressed into her shirt. "I just don't look right. I don't know? I want to tell you," he says after a gulp, because Junmi is kind and gentle with him and always, always has time to listen, and he never shuts down on her on purpose. "But I don't know how."

Junmi presses a long, thoughtful kiss to his hair instead of responding. Of course she worries. She worries about Zitao so much, but this is just how things are right now. It's a kind of worry that's mellowed with understanding. "Well, lets think," she says, fingers rubbing at the stubble at the nape of Zitao's neck. It relaxes him instantly; she shifts her weight to support the increase of his. "What's your very favourite outfit?"

Easy: those tight black jeans and the shirt that cost a week's wages but is so perfectly tailored to him he never wears it without turning heads. "I just don't," Zitao starts, but the thought dies on his tongue and swallows back down. He just doesn't want it. Where it came from, who he is wearing it, who people will see him as. It feels hot and liquid under his skin, the thought of being seen. It's crushing. Junmi must feel him trying to draw in; she bows her arms and lets him, following him down.

For a moment they're just still, quiet. "Do you want to stay home? I can go and be back in an hour," Junmi suggests when nothing follows. No tears, so that's good at least. Zitao shakes his head, forehead pressed to her belly, and she instinctively starts smoothing his hair back down. "Then what, baby Taozi?" she asks, still patient, but they can't stay like this all day. "What would be nice," she wonders outloud, "You looked so cute in that sweater, but I guess you wouldn't wear it outside."

Zitao gives a little nod. "I liked it. 'cause it's yours, it's nice." His head hurts now, but it's warm and dark with his face hidden like this. He doesn't mean to whimper quite so audibly when Junmi takes a step back and he's supporting his own weight again. When he looks up she's staring over at the pile of clothing on the chair again, mouth twisted. "Sorry," he says, but she turns back with a smile.

"Don't be. Come here."

Zitao's pulled up by his forearms before he gets a say in the matter. "Sorry." For making them late, for being sad so often, for needing so much extra love and care all the time. "Why are, why are we standing up?"

"Measuring."

"Oh." Zitao doesn’t pretend he's not confused. Junmi stretches up to peck his cheek.

"I have things less gross than the sweater. If you'd like that."

"Oh," Zitao says again, eyes widening. That'd be.. that feels like it'd be a lot better. His heart is pounding harder than the pain in his temple now.

"You're so big, Taozi." Junmi gives him a look like this is new information she has to work with, hand on hip, frowning. Her estimation of which clothing he can safely squeeze his way into is a lot broader than his own was, though, and after some rummaging he's got a pretty good selection to choose from (well, there's some colour variance, at least.)

"Are you sure?" Zitao looks a little doubtful about some of the shirts laid out on the bed. She's so small.

Junmi nods, though, insistent and a little flushed from all the digging around. "It's fine. Look, it'll fit." She swipes up a cream and navy shirt that looks so flimsy Zitao almost backs up when she pushes it against his front. But she's just about right; with some tugging and readjusting it does measure up against him. "See?" She gives him a big smile, all teeth.

"Y, yeah." Zitao feels a little dazed as the striped shirt is peeled away and she reaches for the next, flattening it to his front again and tugging at the shoulders. This is so— Zitao swallows, hard. "I love you."

It's a little out of the blue. It strikes Junmi almost shy for a split-second before she's grinning again. "You too."

Zitao's eyes still look a little bright but at least he's smiling now. The attention makes him bashful, and if he's feeling ok enough to play cute then Junmi's satisfied he's on the mend again.

 

˘

 

Junmi enjoys her work, and she doesn't have any great issue with socialising, but socialising _for_ work involves far more dressing up than she'd prefer. Avoiding dresses means wearing clothing similar to her mother's lunch-at-the-golf-club attire. Zitao is sensible enough not to even let the thought cross his mind when she asks how she looks.

Junmi doesn't exactly have much hair to style, so she slicks it back and compensates by wearing the prettiest earrings she's comfortable with. Comfortable being a generous description.

Zitao, on the other hand, is a perfect plus one (well, visually, at least. His vocabulary doesn't extend to business discussions, and if there's free food there's no hope). He doesn't get invited all that often, but when he does he makes sure to be perfectly modelesque.

"Very handsome." The apples of Junmi's cheeks round as she reaches to threaten a pat to Zitao's meticulously disheveled hair. As expected he squawks and ducks away, but the look he fixes her with when he straightens again is stark and serious enough that she doesn't make a second attempt. Zitao shuffles a little; Junmi tugs gently at his sleeve in encouragement.

It takes a false start, Zitao licking at the inside of his cheek and another little shuffle of his feet before it'll come out. "Can I be beautiful instead?"

Junmi's smile comes quick and easy in that way that makes her nose scrunch. "Sure," she says, looks thoughtful for a moment, then leaves his side to dig through her bag. "Come here," she beckons him down, then uncaps the tube of gloss she came up with.

Zitao doesn't hesitate. Junmi teasingly tells him to open up, shows him how to stretch his lips, but he already knows, and so does she. His heart is still pounding hard enough to feel as though it's echoing out of his parted lips as Junmi applies the gloss in careful, cold dabs before spreading it.

Her lips are naturally a stark pink, so she tends towards shades that match it. When Zitao checks his reflection in the hallway mirror his smile is hesitant and shimmering pastel.

"You can join the glamorous crowd tonight. I just look angry when I wear make up," Junmi says behind him, giving his shoulder a pat on her way to picking out shoes. And she's kind of right — eye make up softens Zitao's features but sharpens hers, making her eyes look fierce and staring while his go deep and liquid. Zitao tilts his head, blinking up at his reflection. He hopes the bathrooms where they're going will be well lit; he's going to need a lot of mirror selfies if he keeps up looking this nice.

"It won't be a problem, right? If anyone.. Work and stuff."

Junmi shrugs. "We do make an odd couple. But a happy one, that's the important thing."

"Lame." Zitao's smiling.

"And at least one of us will fit in with the other pretty wives," Junmi laughs as she steps out into the hallway. Zitao isn't immediate behind her, and she turns back thinking perhaps she should choose her words more carefully. "Sorry," she smiles sheepishly, "That was—"

"We're going to be late again," Zitao cuts in, voice soft and low, and nudges her along with an arm around her waist.

 

"Ok?" Junmi asks in the elevator, playing with Zitao's fingers. He seems quiet. Invites to work events usually make him so loud.

Zitao smiles, nods. The heat from the blush creeping along his cheekbones feels as though it's sparked and set an ember off glowing hot in his chest, another in his stomach. "Thanks for the lipgloss," he says as they slow, just before the doors open. Just to mention that it's pretty. It's on him; he's pretty.

"You look beautiful." Junmi forgot to tell him when Zitao asked. Better late than never, it seems, judging by how tightly Zitao squeezes her hand before they part either side of the car. Zitao smiles with more light in his eyes than Junmi's seen for a long time, and if a smear of lipgloss is all it takes she'd be happy to stop off on the way back to buy him a tube of his own. Five tubes, ten if it'd keep him smiling like that.

When he kisses her in the corridor before they join the event it feels buttery and sticky, their lips both slick. It makes him giggle, how their lips glide, and Junmi would kiss him all over if it weren't for the trail it'd leave behind.

 

 

It keeps Zitao awake that night, how it had felt to feel pretty in a room full of people. Pretty as opposed to any of the other complimentary things he's usually called. People had certainly looked at him like he was pretty — misplaced prettiness, confusing. Enough to effect their expressions, their words, and he hadn't wanted that to end.

In highschool he learnt a lot of mannerisms from the groups of girls he was close to, although his home environment and proficiency at sport soon knocked it out of him. Tonight drew them back out, muscle memory for movements and speech patterns that Zitao had forgotten he even knew, forgotten he had felt the urge to learn.

Sleepless nights are worse when Junmi is with him, when he can't get up and keep himself busy until he wears down enough to fall back into bed and crash out. He's getting there, though, thoughts starting to disjoin. And it's still technically time spent with Junmi, even if she's fast asleep.

There's no in between with how Junmi sleeps, either curled up small on her own side of the bed or sprawled out on Zitao like he's just an extra pillow. Tonight she's tucked in under his chin, fitted tight against his side with an arm slung over his chest and her knee curled dangerously close to uncomfortable territory between his thighs. She's comfort curled warm against him, though. He thinks she's wonderful just for existing. His mom told him when he was five, seven, when he won a trophy at eleven, she told him she was so relieved to have had a son. When he was nineteen and introduced her to his girlfriend over Skype; last year when she saw him in the flesh and couldn't stop touching his shoulders grown broad. So happy, so blessed. That the spirits, Gods, someone up there, someone knew how much she'd wanted a little boy.

Junmi doesn't wake when Zitao clambers out from underneath her and leaves the bedroom. He waits, dim and disconnected, supporting himself against the bathroom basin. A perfect, handsome, strong boy. After a few minutes he starts to feel the chill in the room, hasn't done anything as drastic as throwing up like he'd feared he would. Junmi stirs just a little when he slips back in beside her. Most of the covers are on her side, so Zitao just waits to fall asleep with his back and shoulders damp and icy cold.

 

 

It takes a week for both circumstances and Zitao's nerves to be in the right place. Junmi leaves for her hours of overtime on Sunday with a sleepy kiss goodbye, and Zitao lies balled up under the covers for another twenty minutes. His heartbeat feels like it's shaking the whole bed.

He doesn't think Junmi would mind him borrowing her things, not after she offered him so many before. That's not where his guilty hesitance lies. He spoke to his therapist as much as his vocabulary allowed about what's been keeping him awake at night since he last saw her — how many buried memories, flickers of feelings and emotions, just how much that night had dug up. How much he'd changed as he grew because he let filial love and expectations and pride shape him. She didn't have much to say in response, and in ways Zitao was glad. Now you've made these realisations, she said, just continue exploring them, see what you find.

Junmi's clothing is majoritively unisex and not always immediately recognisable as feminine, but to Zitao the difference is huge. It's easier to imagine he's a little different when the cut of the clothes allows. Different how, exactly, he's not entirely sure. He can't really organise the feelings into coherent thoughts. When he's worked his way through almost every shirt he remembers her setting aside as workable for his size, there's still no words there for his list. His features in the mirror just look back at him in a lax, peaceful kind of way that he hasn't seen in a long time.

 

 

˘

 

Monday starts with Junmi remembering her meeting is twenty minutes earlier than usual. Something to do with staff cuts, no, not cuts, she meant training? Those things aren't even alike, geez. She kisses Zitao goodbye so hurriedly that his cheekbone feels bruised for most of the morning.

Monday, as a work day, ends for Zitao with a sigh of relief as he's kicking off his shoes that evening. The shirt he wore today is plain and shapeless, but the shoulder seams are a little tight. The label in the neck is embroidered with gold thread in pretty, looping letters. And he wore it all day, and nothing bad happened. And he felt as though when Sehun squinted because he looked _sort of off_ , and when he caught his reflection throughout the day and it wasn't quite what it usually is, like he feels a whole lot lighter for it.

 _I can't explain it,_ he writes in the Happy Things column, _but I dont feel so gross inside recently. monday was good._

Tuesday is good too — Tuesday is the cream and navy stripes. Sehun saying that his smile is getting annoying; it's cheating him out of commission, Zitao luring people in with that stupid pretty face.

 

Wednesday is when the unease starts to set in. Junmi's not worn this grey sweater for a while, to Zitao's memory, but.. It's hers. She may have been ok with lending things out to Zitao when he was having a turn, but that doesn't mean these are his to do as he likes with. His face in the mirror looking back at the sweater held to his front looks so kicked-puppy that he feels kind of sorry for himself. But come on, Zitao. He didn't pay a fortune for his wardrobe for nothing. And it's a little weird, he's sure, to wear your girlfriend's clothing. (Well, that was a matter of debate in highschool.)

Slowly, Zitao sets it aside and pulls out one of his own shirts. One of his favourites. Yeah.

 

Zitao is rarely late to work, but Sehun's already opened up when he gets there.

"You ok?" Sehun raises his brows at Zitao as he hurries past to key in. "You're never here after me. You're lucky I carry a key."

"So lucky," Zitao deadpans, but he's too breathless from the run up here to sound annoyed. It's actually a little warm out for wearing a sweater. He tugs at the neck to get some cool air in. "But yeah I just, I, make up disaster, I had to redo it."

Sehun's giving him a long, hard look when he steps up to the counter. "Were you crying? You look all.." he gestures vaguely towards his own eyes.

"No," Zitao says a little too sharply, and great, now Sehun looks even more suspicious. "I got eyeliner in my eye. I just said, I had to redo it."

"Alright." Sehun holds his hands up. He's a little lazy for serious interrogation, and Zitao couldn't be more thankful for that right now. It makes him jolt a little when Sehun gives his shoulder a pat on his way past. "If you need to talk, y'know," Sehun says, and they exchange shrugs. They both know it's a lot more gesture than actual offer, but Zitao is still grateful.

 

Bathroom selfies are nothing too glamorous at work where the lighting is a little orange, but Zitao is skilled at this, so the result isn't too bad after a few filters. It takes the majority of his lunch break to decide what to send with it, though.

 _mi☆ mi☆_ he types eventually. Sounds a lot cuter than he feels slumped over the break room table. But then the picture he's sending looks a lot cuter than he's felt all day. Not that he doesn't look _really_ cute in this sweater, it's a great shape on him, but the five minutes of unexpected tears at how he'd looked in that tshirt he'd planned to swap it for hadn't really gotten the day off to a good start. _I hope its ok I wore this!! I thought it'd look cute, was I right?_ (*´∀｀)

For the rest of his break he keeps an eye on the message in hope of it showing up as read, but Junmi must be busy. It's not until the exact moment he's changed the sign back over out front that his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he'd happily risk a scolding for sneaking behind a rack of clothes to check it if it weren't for one of his regular ladies approaching. An easy sale sounds like a perfect mood lifter right about now.

"Good afternoon," he starts, folding his hands and tilting his head. "Is there anything I—"

She waves the formality off. "I can't be long," she says as she scoots past Zitao, taking short, abrupt steps in heels that look painfully new. He makes an about turn and pre-emptively starts feeling on his keychain when she plasters herself over the ring cabinet.

She's a nice lady — always been one of his favourites even aside from the fact she's loyal to their brand. Not quite old enough to mother him, really, but she's never sparing with her cooing over him. Sehun's always talked like he dodged a bullet by not being the one she took a liking to, but Zitao's hardly adverse to having a fuss made of him (and getting paid for it, at that).

"Something small and, I don't know, oh," she huffs, scanning the rows of rings again and again. "Tao, what do you think?"

He leans over when called on. Her hair is so glossy under the harsh white lights in here. Junmi's has been less than happy recently with all that bleach. "What's the occasion?"

"Wedding. Someone I don't like." She gives Zitao a look over her sunglasses that makes him purse back a laugh. The longer she looks at him the softer her expression becomes, though. Zitao blinks back enquiringly, and she reaches to touch his sleeve. "I've never seen you in this before, have I? You look so sweet."

He gives his head a little shake. She's definitely his favourite. "Thank you."

 

He slips his phone out under the counter after seeing her out. Junmi says pretty much the same. Even through text she reads as a little surprised, maybe, but she says it's fine, he looks adorable. She says she's glad that he's looked happier recently. She also says that she loves him lots and lots, followed by an octopus and a palm tree. Zitao shakes his head and stuffs his phone back into his pocket. His chest feels as though it's physically aching with relief.

 

 

˘

 

Strictly speaking Jackson is supposed to at least text before he turns up on Zitao's doorstep, but that's a courtesy more for Junmi than Zitao. And Jackson knows from Zitao's grumping last night that Junmi is working again this Sunday, so obviously he's just being a good friend by going to keep him company. Good friends get to drink the expensive coffee for breakfast, too, he's sure.

The door is already unlocked, and Jackson doesn't bother announcing his arrival until he's out of his shoes and padding in to locate Zitao. "Morning," he calls, waits. Silence. Lazy ass must still be in bed. "Huang, it's morning."

A definite sound follows that. And then more, heavy like Zitao possibly fell out of bed. And if he has, Jackson's gotta see that.

"I came all the way over here to keep you company and you're not even ready and waiting for me with breakfast, this is bad service," he says as he heads down the hallway, loud enough for Zitao to hear from behind the bedroom door.

"Go start it yourself. Give me a minute," Zitao calls back.

Nah. "Come on man I've seen it all before, I just—"

Zitao's already kicked out of whatever pants he was wearing, his shirt raised to his elbows (except it's not _his_ shirt; Junmi's wearing it in that photo of the three of them at Namsan, Jackson knows that without having to stop and think on it). He looks like he's put on every shiny piece of jewellery he's ever owned. The last time Jackson saw him in such heavy makeup was when he had a fever and was trying to reanimate the zombie he'd become.

"Woah. You, uh." Zitao looks a lot more startled than Jackson feels. Jackson's.. surprised, sure, but Zitao's looking at him as though he may as well have just broken in with an axe. "You're pretty done up for a Sunday morning."

Zitao's mouth works a little, but he honestly looks more like he's going to throw up than speak. Wouldn't want that, so Jackson does the first thing he can think of to break the silence — a laugh so loud that Zitao flinches in surprise.

"Looks nice?" he offers. "That's— I dunno how you're fitting into that, but.." Jackson doesn't push when he sees that it's upsetting Zitao. "Stop with that look, yeah? I'm not like, not ok with you suddenly or anything." He rubs at the back of his neck, unsure how to say this without getting Zitao's eyes any more wide and watery. "Just, first, before you say anything else. Whatever this is you're doing, we're good, ok?"

Jackson thought he'd dealt with that as smoothly as possible for how abruptly his plans went from _charm a free breakfast out of Tao_ to _pick Tao up off the floor and wipe away his eyeliner tears_ , but Zitao starts to sob into his hands.

"Shit, Tao, don't start that." Jackson steps further into the room to grab a tshirt from the foot of the bed, dropping it into Zitao's lap. "Are you upset with you? I'm not upset with you."

It had been a surprise for sure, but even if Zitao hadn't burst into tears of his own volition Jackson wouldn't have given him cause to. He'd have laughed, sure, because nothing Zitao is wearing fits right, and it's not every day you walk in on your best friend wearing their girlfriend's clothing. It's only all this crying that's making him figure it's probably more than something they can just laugh off.

Zitao's makeup is smeared in outward curves over his cheekbones after he's scrubbed at both eyes with the tshirt. It doesn't exactly help, because each time he dries his eyes they immediately well up again. He's not sure when exactly Jackson started holding his free hand, but the tight squeeze when he gulps back another sob helps a little.

Jackson offers a smile when Zitao ventures a glance up at him. "You wanna talk? I dunno how much advice I have on that obvious eyeliner disaster, but."

"You're not funny," Zitao says hoarsely. Despite that he does smile a little, but it does nothing to ease the way he's shaking through his limbs. Jackson doesn't like that; vigorously rubbing Zitao's hand between his own doesn't seem to help either, and now he's starting to get all tight in his throat too.

"I am in fact very funny, but I'll let you off as you're upset."

Zitao doesn’t show any sign of agreeing, but Jackson thinks he can easily let that slide right now. It's a relief when he starts trying to talk. "I think I," Zitao says, "I think I'm not, not. Not. Not—" his knee is jogging, and Jackson keeps on rubbing his hand. "N, n, not, not.."

"It's ok," Jackson says gently. Zitao shakes his head, so Jackson squeezes extra tight. Whatever it is he's going to hear Zitao out. He hasn't shown any signs of having recently murdered anyone or anything, so it can't be all that bad.

"It's just, confusing, I'm sorry." He splutters, all stuffed up now from the crying. Jackson gestures with his hand for Zitao to take a deep breath. It helps, and Zitao furiously blinks back more tears. Better to get it all out now he's having a lapse in crying, probably, so he squeezes his eyes shut and determines to not stop this time. "I'm not— I don't think I'm, I'm, like, I always, I grew up with.. everyone said I'm a boy, but I don't think I am? I'm not. I'm, sorry—"

There's a pause when Zitao looks to Jackson to see how he took that. He feels so dizzy from crying.

Jackson looks confused, a little bug eyed. Up until now the conscious effort to be cool about whatever this is going on had been easy. Each to their own and all — Jackson was pretty prepared to hear something unpleasant about what Zitao gets up to in the bedroom, or maybe that he'd got some odd new hobby he'd been keeping to himself, but. Well, wow. He's probably been silently thinking on it for too long when Zitao starts tearing up again.

"I'm sorry, I don't want—" More grey and black streaks around Zitao's eyes as he tries to swipe the tears away with his fingertips. It's a valiant attempt, but they're coming faster than he can catch them. "I don't want anything to change with us or anything but I tried to ignore it and I can't, an, and I felt happier and I want to keep feeling happier, a-and—"

"Ok. Ok." Jackson stops Zitao with a raised hand. "That's," he starts, and wrestling Zitao into a hug that'll keep his mouth trapped shut looks to be the only way he's going to get to continue. Zitao flaps a little at suddenly being crushed into Jackson's collarbone, but Jackson doesn't let up. "That's fine. You're alright. Don't hyperventilate ok, I never finished that first aid course."

 

"So you think you want to go the whole way with this? Dresses and heels and shit."

"I dunno. Probably not those things specifically." Zitao likes his clothing tight. He's a lot calmer now, milk with a hint of coffee in it in one hand and Jackson's collar gripped in the other. He doesn't exactly fit across Jackson's lap, but with the help of some couch cushions and years of experience they're making it work. "Junmi never wears stuff like that."

"Never?"

Zitao thinks on it, then nods. "I mean she wears heels sometimes, but not the rest. Just once since I've known her." Just that one formal work thing. The dress had fitted her slim waist perfectly. She'd complained that she had neither the chest nor hips to balance it out, and her exposed legs were too muscular and scrawny. She'd been thankful for Zitao's honesty backing up that this was a horrendous idea. Baekhyun, her plus one for the night, plucked from the department under hers and promised a good mention at her next meeting if he wore a decent suit, got a smack around the shoulders with her purse for how stiltedly he'd tried to convince her otherwise.

"I meet lots of girls at work and not many of them wear stuff like that." Girls in general, yeah, he sees a lot of frills and skirts, but girls he can give context to vary. His therapist always wears plain A-line skirts. Some of the girls he knows through his old athletics meets or bumps into from yoga never compromised on their femininity through the necessity of practicality or because their interests may suggest otherwise. Chanyeon, that girl that works the desk at Junmi's building, she's taller than Zitao in heels. She has untamable blonde spirals of hair and wears everything slightly mismatched, like she always has too many favourites to settle for just one.

"Dresses and heels and shit," Zitao repeats thoughtfully. Jackson makes an affronted sound at the sudden dig of an elbow into his side. "And you wonder why you have so many problems with girls."

 

 

˘

 

"Mèimei, can I borrow you over lunch break?" Zitao asks Jungin, leaning out of the entrance of the store to catch her while she's arranging a display at her own store front. He flashes her a big, kittenish smile and she almost topples the pile of books.

He wore the earrings she'd commented on specially today, and Junmi had obliged when he leant down close to her with puckered lips as she applied gloss. It's not wasted on Jungin, who meets Zitao in the break room as usual and gives him a long, silent stare followed by one of those smiles.

"We're going shopping, mèimei," he tells her, taking her arm. Initially Zitao had considered asking for Jackson's moral support, but considering Jackson's entire lack of a clue when it comes to anything feminine beyond "I dunno, Tao, floral and frilly or something," he thought better of it. Ordering online seemed the easiest option, really, but Zitao has no idea where to start when it comes to sizes written in what seems to be a different language to what he's used to and with so many options.

Zitao is trusting his instincts that Jungin is the least likely to have a problem with this, and his nerves considerably quell when she doesn't so much as stop to check the sign above the door as they head in.

Zitao first makes a beeline for an area that's uncrowded and out of view, then does an about turn and heads towards sequins, metallic thread, glitter flecked wool. Shiny shiny shiny.

Jungin trails after him, fingers brushing the fabrics of the rows of clothing. She finds Zitao inspecting a blue and gold shirt, both satin and panels of solid sparkles. Jungin tugs gently at the shirt he's picked off the rack and then taps the label on the hanger, stretching over further to point out the smaller sizes nearer the front.

"That's probably Junmi's size," Zitao agrees, looking at how much narrower the shoulders are. He swallows and tries to put on a firm smile as he holds the shirt in his hands up to his chest. "It's for me, though, mèimei," he tells her slowly, but he doesn't expect that she'll give him eye contact regardless, "That's why I wanted your advice. I don't know much about these kinds of things, but you always have nice outfits."

"I suppose your girlfriend can't help," Jungin says without pause, holding out a shirt by the sleeve to inspect the pattern. "She always looks like a boy when I see her. She's really cool."

"She is." Zitao smiles. Junmi wouldn't be seen dead in the shirt he's holding. "So if I look like a girl we'd be pretty cute, right?"

Jungin doesn't look up at Zitao, just keeps on staring into the rack of clothing in front of them. Her expression doesn't appear to actually alter, though, which Zitao decides he's going to read as a good sign. Jungin is the first person he's said anything to about himself and girls in the same sentence. He's not really allowed himself much thought on it yet, and Jackson seems cool with supporting him without needing extensive details until Zitao is ready to give them.

"Junmi isn't trying to be a boy, though, it's just how she likes to look," Zitao continues. The store's a/c is up too high and he's intensely aware of how heated and prickling the nape of his neck is. "So we're, we're kind of different." And ok, that's the most elaboration he's managed, and he already feels a little lighter. And really, really sick.

Jungin looks up at him then, up at his hair, down at his jaw. "They won't have shoes in your size here. And you shouldn't just wear something over the top to prove that you're wearing it." Jungin takes the shirt from Zitao as she says this and hangs it back up. Zitao feels his face heating; this feels a little like he's being scolded. It's better to take the advice, though, and she still seems entirely unfazed by the purpose of their trip.

There isn't enough time to necessitate Zitao deciding if he's feeling brave enough to try anything on or not, and as he's not expecting Jungin to run errands for him getting refunds they head to pay after agreeing on one item. Jungin says it won't look odd if Zitao is with her, and can Zitao please be with her.

He smiles at the girl behind the counter when Jungin doesn't. He knows there's no need to be uneasy when he just looks like a shopping companion, and if anything his focus on Jungin's nerves is steadying his own. Jungin's nails dig visible crescents into her palm as she hands over the notes Zitao passed to her from his pocket.

 

"Do you want to carry it?" Jungin asks as they're leaving. "It's yours."

"Oh." Zitao opens his fingers to take the bag. "Thank you. For coming with me and helping and everything. Mèimei, can you.." Zitao twists the string handles of the bag. Peering in the open ends either side of the tape makes him burn so hot inside. "Can you not tell Sehun about this, please?"

There's a pause before Jungin nods her head. "But if you're not a boy don't you want people to know so they won't keep making mistakes?"

"I'm not sure yet," Zitao confesses, glancing down and away. His earrings jangle. There's so much that feels as though it's opening up to him, but none of it definite enough for asking for changes.

"Is that why you're seeing a therapist?"

"It's not." Zitao winds the handles around his fingers and thinks of his list of Happy Things. It's not, but it could be.

 

 

˘

 

Jackson treats meeting with Zitao about his sessions as though each time is a good cause for a sympathy party, and Zitao doesn't really have much against that. He does relay how it went to Junmi, in part, that it's been going better recently, but it's Jackson that gets the full report. Sehun and Jungin both ask out of courtesy, but it feels good to talk to someone about it like it's no big thing to be doing it.

 

"If you keep getting referred I'm gonna start thinking you must be a problem patient." Jackson's fingers are greasy from peeling away the coating on his chicken. Zitao swerves them reaching to prod at him with a scowl.

"She said if I decide to take it further I could see someone that specialises in it, not that she's referring me now."

"Yeah?" Jackson looks admirably interested even with his face almost inside the paper bucket. "What would they do?"

Zitao shrugs. His therapist's voice is calming in its sure strength; he hadn't felt disconcerted in the moment. Relief was the predominant feeling — she didn't think any of the things he was telling her were stupid or confused or wrong. She just turned to a fresh page in his file and smiled for his patience while she headed up new notes.

"She said, like, once you've seen that person, then you can, like," Zitao tugs at his sleeves, the hems down over his knuckles. Telling someone outside the confines of patient confidentiality makes this real. His therapist and all of their shared words are in the walls of that room — Zitao could walk away from this idea as though nothing had happened. He exhales so loudly that Jackson gives him a concerned look, but Zitao's eyes are almost shut. "If you decide its what you want, you can start the.."

 _transition_. Zitao hadn't known the word when she told him. He'd looked it up on his phone in the station bathroom after the session. There was so much information swimming around in his head that he nearly missed his stop.

"Changing. Y'know."

Jackson doesn't look like he does know. After some hand gestures and an exasperated word or two in Mandarin he does. "Oh. Dude, wow."

"Yeah. I need to tell Mi," Zitao says unevenly. Jackson waves the suggestion off and Zitao easily lets him. Maybe after he's had a little more time to learn about what's happening. She's been doing so much overtime recently.

Jackson's arm slinging around him is either a hug or a headlock. Zitao squawks, but he'll happily take either right now. "I'm gonna be honest with you, I don't know anything about this stuff. The closest I knew was like, you know how porn is listed in the three categories? Maybe you don't. But there's always the chicks with dicks, but like, it's not something I ever really thought about."

Zitao scowls at that, but he takes it as a valid point. Until the last few months he'd had no idea there were words and options for anything he felt, so it's not surprising Jackson's just as clueless.

Jackson gives him a good scritch over the back of his head before letting go. Having his hair touched is high on the list of things that make Zitao sing for him; that was a beautiful one. "But I'm sorry bro, that it's like that. I'm gonna find out more. Better myself and shit."

"Dick. Good luck with that." Zitao tugs at the back of his hair to try and get it sticking in the right direction again.

Jackson flashes him a thumbs up. "I'll be great. Noona, sis, jiějie. Anyway," Jackson settles back to reestablish himself with the crumbs left in the paper bucket and gives Zitao a little wave off. "You're supposed to be showing me what you bought, model Huang."

Right. Zitao's already tried the shirt on twice — in the bathrooms at work as soon as he bought it, although he was too nervous to open the door and look in the mirror, and again this morning after his session and before he decided to invite Jackson over to model for.

Jungin had insisted he needed to start plain, however excited he was that there was so much glitter everywhere. Jackson looks a little disappointed when Zitao pulls something grey out of a bag. It has little yellow flowers printed over it and a neckline that scoops down low. " _Look_." Zitao points out the way the waist cinches in, a touch exasperated that Jackson can't see how different it is. "And the sleeves are a different shape. And it's cute."

"Whatever makes you happy, sweetie." Jackson can't really tell if it is cute or not, but Zitao's got light back in his eyes, so sure. The flowers are super cute. The sleeves are a pretty narrow fit around Zitao's biceps and start to roll up into his armpit, but that aside it doesn't give Zitao much trouble to wriggle into.

"Do I look nice?" Zitao asks as he tugs and smoothes the fabric to sit evenly down the slight inward curve of his waist. "It's so soft," he says with a thoughtful look down into the neckline. Sort of a cleavage, just pretty not-soft. "I don't think I could get away with it at work, but for at home it's cute."

"You can come visit me in it," Jackson agrees. "Looks good."

Zitao flops back beside Jackson and spends a moment tugging the sleeves back down. They roll up again as soon as he raises his hands. "Guess what happened when I got home the day I bought this, though? I had a mail from Yifan."

Jackson gawps. "Basketball guy?" _The_ infamous basketball guy. "You're not going to leave Junmi for your highschool crush, right?"

It's been a long time. Only a few years ago Zitao would have been hyperventilating at Yifan _actually talking to him_ , but he has grown up a little. Not enough to not be blushing right now, but that's significant progress. "School reunion or something. When he heard I'd moved over here he got in touch to ask questions."

"And you're helping? What if he moves over here and tells Junmi you two set it up together so he could come and sweep you off your feet with his abnormally large hands?"

Zitao would protest (that he would never leave Junmi for anyone, not that Yifan doesn't have ridiculous hands. Yifan held his shoulder once. Amazing.), but the sound of a key in the door cuts him off.

Junmi gives them an enquiring look from the hallway when the room falls silent as she steps in. "Were you boys up to something?"

Jackson gives her a big smile and a wave. "Just sitting in silence." When she ducks down to take off her shoes he looks to Zitao worriedly. Zitao's got his arms firmly crossed over his chest, protecting his sort-of-cleavage. " _Take it off,_ Jackson mouths to him. Zitao's eyes exasperatedly roll skywards. Of course, ripping his shirt off will look a lot less strange.

Junmi gives them a suspicious look as she approaches. "I know how you two just love being quiet," she says, and Zitao nearly jumps out of his skin when she leans over the back of the couch to loop her arms around his shoulders. "You know, I'm starting to think Taozi must have some mystery person in his life."

Jackson shoots back an offended frown when Zitao gives him a look like he could have somehow told her about Yifan in the last twenty seconds. "This kid? Never." He gives Zitao's arm such a firm punch that he nearly tips in his seat. Junmi's arms around him prevent that though, one hand at his shoulder, the other now venturing up into his hair.

"Mi," Zitao whines, squirming to try and look up at her. Her nails against his scalp feels way too nice with Jackson sitting there watching.

"Just saying." She thumbs one of the studs in Zitao's ear and no that is not fair at all. He can just feel how wide she must be grinning. "That definitely isn't one of my shirts."

For a second Jackson isn't sure whether to save himself and blab. But just as he decides that no, he is loyal and totally courageous enough, Junmi lets up. Not a moment too soon; Jackson can practically feel the heat radiating off Zitao from here.

"It's really cute, baby." She gives Zitao's hair a good muss and pulls him back for a kiss dropped to his forehead before letting go. Zitao lets out a little sound when he's freed and promptly tries to bury down and disappear into a couch cushion. At least he's confirmed cute.

 

 

˘

 

Monday morning it rains. Junmi wakes to the sound of it harsh against the windows rather than her alarm. She wakes because there's a gentle, slightly ticklish pressure at her stomach that's persistent enough to have gotten through. She looks right first — clock; there's just under an hour left to stay in bed.

Zitao's thumb stroking back and forth is what's tickling just below her ribs. When she squirms he obligingly withdraws his hand from under her shirt just to rest it back in the same place above the fabric. It's persistent enough to not be without purpose, but she did overtime on Sunday and it's Monday again already and there's still a good 45 minutes of sleep she could fit in. His fingers start to wander just a little higher.

"Sleep," she groans, "Tao. Sleep."

Beside her Zitao huffs softly. "I'm not doing anything."

"Feels like you are."

"I'm just thinking." Zitao sounds annoyed enough that she's almost convinced. Then his hand skims up to her chest, and that's a little less innocuous.

It makes Junmi grumble, but to his word Zitao isn't actually _doing_ anything. Just resting his hand there, big and warm. Junmi cracks an eye open again and finds Zitao looking as tired as she feels. "They haven't grown or anything," she points out.

"Do you remember me telling you about the basketball guy?" It comes out a little to Zitao's surprise, but there it is.

Junmi makes a confused, sleepy sound. Zitao really needs to work at this early morning quickie thing. "Yixing?"

"No, he was the music guy. Yifan. Yifan got in touch with me."

"Huh." Junmi covers Zitao's hand with both of her own and holds it there when he feels like he's going to move. It's actually pretty nice. "You're leaving me for your highschool crush." Junmi doesn't sound too worried about this turn of events. Zitao rolls his eyes. There's a reason she and Jackson get on well.

"I just thought I should tell you we've been talking."

"Unless you've been talking about how desperately he regrets not getting with you back then it's fine."

"Nothing like that." Zitao says it with so much sincerity that Junmi almost laughs. "He just wanted to ask about what moving over here was like."

"It's fine." Junmi tries for a kiss to his shoulder, but it's more just a press of her face. Anything is a pillow if you try hard enough. "I believe you that you're not trying to seduce me, too. What are you thinking about that requires boob touching?"

Zitao's silence goes on for a beat too long. Junmi frowns, but only because she really, really would like to still be asleep.

"That's it? Yifan?"

"Kinda. We're.." Zitao hesitates, but no better wording comes to him so he continues. "We're made really different. I was just thinking about it."

"Taozi, you don't need to be a girl to like him. You know? Whoever you like or.. liked, it's fine."

Zitao wrinkles his nose a little at that. It's always been sort of confusing to him, the great diversity in who he finds attractive. Although who he finds attractive, who he'd want to kiss, and who he'd want to date are entirely different matters. Yifan was always a sort of middle ground. Yifan could have made him feel smaller and less rough around the edges; that was a lot of the appeal. "I know. Maybe if I had been he would have liked me back, though."

Sweet as this all is, Junmi could fit in another half hour if she can get back to sleep in the next thirty seconds. "Maybe if you'd ever actually talked to him instead of just copying him and staring—" Zitao makes a little sound at that. "Plus if you'd been a girl you'd have had periods, and you're bad enough when you get a tiny little headache. He'd never have been man enough to deal with it. If you'd even stayed on sports teams at all."

At that Zitao tugs his hand back to himself and buries down under the covers. "Shut up. I'd have been fine."

"Mhmm." If Zitao is going to sulk that kind of works in Junmi's favour. She can make it up to him later.

Zitao scowls, but it's wasted on Junmi. It shouldn't be possible that she's already asleep only a few seconds on, but her breathing sounds like it's leading up to a snore again. Fine. Zitao squirms down more comfortably and links his fingers over his stomach. But that's a little higher than where Junmi drags his hands to when she's already taken painkillers and is still squirming around in the middle of the night. They help, apparently, because they're big and warm. He probably wouldn't have been fine at all.

 

 

˘

 

Every Christmas, Birthday, and plausibly excusable occasion Mama Kim indirectly treats Zitao to make up. Junmi always accepts it, opens it, asks Zitao to tell her some nice things to say about it when she calls to say thank you. Junmi wears 'no make up' make up to work most days, clear gloss on her pink lips, enough foundation to smooth over the scars on her cheekbones.

The only occasion Junmi generally wears anything more stark is to meetings when she wants to terrorise. She paints her lips scarlet, makes Zitao shriek and squirm when she removes the majority of what's left after a day of coffee mugs by leaving his face covered in smudged, visible kisses.

Perhaps because of that, lipstick summons up more sensory memories for Zitao of his mom than Junmi. He can't really remember an occasion when his mother's lips weren't coloured. The scent of it under his nose as he applies brings back kisses to his cheeks that marked, how greasily tacky it feels compared to the usual lipgloss he sneaks dabs of.

"This colour doesn't suit my skin at all," Zitao says, but he still poses for the mirror and admires the instant change in his reflection. "You wanna try it?" he offers Jackson, capping the tube and throwing it onto the bed beside him.

Jackson rolls towards it from where he's been sprawled flat out on his stomach. "Sure."

Zitao turns his attention back to the pouches on top the dresser. They match — came as a set. It's easy enough to tell which belongs to who just from the fullness. Junmi's has a few items his doesn't, though.

"Do you think 'cause I did stuff like this in highschool I shouldn't have taken so long to think about doing it again?" he asks as he contemplates the mascara Junmi has never used beyond that one formal event. He's never tried any before, but he remembers watching other people apply it well enough.

Jackson shrugs, sitting up now, winding the lipstick up and down. "Nah. Highschool seems like a big deal at the time, but as soon as you leave you wonder why. Everyone changes when they leave."

"I guess."

Zitao applies the mascara as carefully as he can, but coordinating looking in the mirror and his eyelashes not fluttering in the wrong direction proves no easy feat. The edge of the wand catches his cheek more than once, and a large clump clogs heavy and sticky near the inner corner of his eye. There must be some technique to this, Zitao thinks, but all it is is holding a brush. When he blinks the clump disperses, but it also leaves spatters of black both above and under his eye.

Behind him Jackson is holding the lipstick tube like a chicken bone he's trying to tear meat from, applying it with his lips puckered. Zitao could be doing worse.

Jackson offers to turn his back while Zitao changes, but it's more gesture than action. He's seen it all before, but maybe Tao isn't comfortable being watched changing into things like that. Or something, Jackson shrugs, and Zitao smiles.

"This doesn't look like your usual kind of thing." Jackson is back on his stomach again, arms folded, lipstick smears on the backs of his hands. Zitao continues unpacking the bag beside the bed, laying the clothing around him. "What's with all the pastels? Is that a dress?"

Zitao holds up the pale yellow item and shakes out the creases, smoothing down the length of the skirt. "Yeah. Jungin from work is pretty tall, she said I could borrow them just to try. Not that you're not being helpful," he adds as he fiddles with the zip. And he means that — Jackson is useless at much beyond _well it came from women's wear_ , but his heart is very much in the right place ."But it's good having a girl friend too. She tells me off so much, I had no idea it was so complicated.."

In highschool Zitao had his own friends, people he talked to about sports and cars and all the other inane things they found to pass time. His girlfriend's circle of friends adopted him in after deciding he posed no threat, though, and between sports meets and long, argumentative evenings of gaming, he'd be a shopping date. Or company to long, argumentative evenings of gaming that often ended in him wearing accessories in his hair and being quizzed about how boys work.

Being dressed up was indulgent. Zitao was cute enough, and his willingness to play along seemed to help his girlfriend out with gaining some friends. Maybe their relationship had been a lot more about easy companionship and sparing each other from the attention of other people, but Zitao only has fond memories.

"You're doing the dresses and heels and shit thing after rejecting my suggestion so harshly? I'm wounded, Zitao."

Zitao rolls his eyes amiably. "I figured I should try it. If I say I'm a girl but I don't want to.. but I, like." Talking and aiming his feet into the dress without tearing anything at once proves difficult, so he focuses on just the one task until the fabric is safely snug up around his hips. "—Yeah, like, what if I want to keep my hair short? What if I hate dresses and don't like heels, like Junmi? It's ok for her, but maybe people would say I'm not doing it right."

"I don't think you have to get a qualification or anything."

"Zip me up," Zitao wiggles a little in invitation, "And it was the first thing you said," Zitao points out. "If I was going to do this seriously then I'd wear dresses."

Jackson shrugs a shoulder before reaching for the small fiddly zipper. "I told you I'd better myself."

 

Zitao shaved his legs in advance of today. Maybe a little too far in advance, judging by how dark his shins look already. It was an ordeal, is the best way he could describe it. It was a far gorier process than he'd been anticipating and took a good fifteen minutes longer than he'd allowed for. The heightened sensitivity and Junmi fussing over him with lotion made it pretty worthwhile, at least. It's sort of making the third dress of Jungin's that he's trying on look more suited, but his reflection is looking back at him with a hint of something disapproving under all the make up.

"What do you think?" he calls over to Jackson, holding up the hem to give a little swish from side to side.

"Mhmm." Jackson retreated to the couch to watch tv once they'd established that the remaining outfits didn't have any complicated fastenings. It's not that he's not interested, but honestly he's never dedicated even half this much time to caring about what any girls he's been involved with have been wearing. And it is a little difficult, being both honest and considerate. Zitao's not a small, shapely girl by any stretch of the imagination. "I think you were getting on better buying stuff yourself, honestly, but if you want some twirly stuff go ahead."

"It's not about wanting twirly stuff," Zitao huffs, although the feel of lots of material to dramatically flounce around in is undeniably fun. The thin straps are pretty uncomfortable though, and the draft could take some getting used to. Although really, when Zitao looks back to his reflection again he knows there's not a lot of motivation there for getting used to this.

Jackson doesn't appreciate having his view blocked by Zitao in five feet of orange and beige. "Hey," he tries to wave Zitao off like he's a big floral mosquito, "Now I don't know how much that dresser was priced at."

"What am I gonna do." Zitao sits beside him, careful of how to tuck the skirt so it doesn't pull on his shoulders. For a moment he hesitates, thinking back to that lady on the subway a few days ago he'd carefully been shifting to mimic. "I don't think," he says, tugging at his knee to fold himself in properly, "This is me. Dresses and mascara and things."

"Did we ever think it was?"

Zitao pouts. "But everyone knows you're a girl if you're like this. Seemed worth trying."

"Sis." Jackson's never going to find out the result of this show. "If it's not you then it's not. You're the one that was telling me girls wear all kinds of different stuff."

"But even if I wanted to." With his legs folded like this Zitao can see the stubble already grown through below his knee. At one point it maybe bothered him that his face wasn't the same and other people in his class were already shaving when he only grew whiskers, but huh. Funny how some things work out. "I'm just saying if I wanted to, I'm too big."

Jackson shrugs. "You complain that girl at Junmi's work is taller than you every time you see her."

"I'm trying to feel sorry for myself." Zitao points out, swatting at Jackson's leg. There's nothing Zitao hates more than being put off mid-sulk, but Jackson's not having any of it.

"Tough," he says, catching Zitao's hand and pushing it back into his own lap. "Buy more shit you like and wear the make up you like. You can be like a biker chick or something. Start a lesbian punk band."

"I will. And you'll be barred from all of our shows," Zitao decides. That triumph doesn't make him proud enough to not take the offer of Jackson's shoulder-pillow though. He gets the idea; Jackson is more than willing to help, but he does need a little quiet time from skirts and lipstick. Careful not to touch his red lips to Jackson's shirt, Zitao makes himself comfortable. Dozily he wonders when saying he was a girl made his heart squeeze happy rather than trying to leap up out of his throat. He wonders when Jackson stopped calling him bro. He wonders how much clothing he can stash at the bottom of the closet before Junmi notices.

 

 

˘

 

Yifan mailing is becoming so routine now that Zitao almost anticipates it. In the same way he anticipates Sehun turning up with a new shade of rainbow in his hair, or Junmi discovering a new favourite emoji and sending it in every message regardless of context. The flutters are pretty much under control now (he's seen pictures — Yifan's grown up well, but.. well, he's grown up. He looks incredibly handsome in a suit, but it was the messy bleached hair and piercings that had teenage Zitao so hooked). It's weird, feeling so calm about casually being in Yifan's thoughts so often these days. In a way it makes Zitao feel satisfied in his capability of growing.

He shouldn't really check his phone during shifts, but the store has been dead for twenty minutes with Zitao steadily feeling similarly. His phone buzzing continuously in his back pocket is the most interesting thing to happen in the last hour, so he slips it out under the counter. It's not Junmi as he'd hoped, but after reading the notifications he's too curious to be disappointed.

 _found these :^)_ Yifan says, and three pictures of photographs in an album follow.

Zitao recognises the scenery from the thumbnails, and he knows exactly what they are. He had some, too, probably still safe at home with his mom. The last sports meet ever before they graduated. It's Yifan he looks for first when he pinches the photo to full screen, and no, ok, so he's still pretty fluttery for Yifan as he was back then. He should show Sehun.

His phone buzzes again while he's looking from face to face. _by the way_ drops down, but he flicks it back up and ignores it. Because he's just found himself in the picture, and his eyes are wet before he's even registered why. Zitao sets his phone on the counter and takes a step back. Blinking up at the ceiling isn't helping, so he carefully dabs at the edges of his eyes with a sleeve. Shit shit shit.

Teenage Zitao has the same piercings as Yifan. Long legs and less muscle than now, not yet fully grown into his features. Big eyes and home dyed hair, arms full of bracelets and charms. Easy confidence for the cutesy pose. And Zitao can see it, he can _see_ it. _Sorry, mama, my girlfriend did it. Sorry, mama, she doesn't listen when I tell her not to. Sorry, mama, she wanted us to wear ones that matched._ Teenage Zitao had a lot of good reasons. Zitao here and now feels like he's going to throw up.

 _I was linked in to your Pinterest when I added you the other day_ Yifan continues. Zitao taps back to messages. He can't get upset about this at work. He can't let himself start thinking back to it all right now. At least his next session is tomorrow.

 _oh yeah it does that now_. Zitao knows exactly why Yifan is mentioning this, but he waits. Yifan always had the delicacy of a rock. _I'm all into dream homes atm. we're not gonna move for a few years probably but its fun♥_

_did u know your profile is set to female?_

Zitao's mouth twists. Yifan probably isn't very interested in his dream home (even though Junmi agreed that they should totally have a hidden doorway). _哈哈哈哈_ he types automatically. It's funny, right. Easy mistake to make. It took three visits to the page — one to see if changing it was even an option, two more because.. _because_.

Overtaken by a strange, upset determination Zitao isn't even shaking now. He used to know exactly what he wanted, but it's only now he actually knows in words what it is that he can see how forced down he let it become. Yifan and this gentle formation of a friendship is nice, but he'd be an easy loss. _yeah I didnt mention in case it made things awkward but I am now_. And yeah, he's maybe lying a little, saying it's to that extent. But he's told someone. Someone that knew him then; that's never known him as the man he grew into.

 _oh!!_ Yifan replies without pause. _sorry I've been calling you the wrong thing all this time. do u go by a different name now?_

_np. not yet.  
you're ok about it?_

_ofc. my friend is the same. The other way around though_  
_I mean he was born a girl_  
_I mean he was told he was a girl, he is a_ guy  
_Sorry_ 囧

Zitao smiles. He's probably never going to entirely get over him. _that's cool ☆ I gotta get back to work, thanks for the photos. I'll reply to the other stuff tonight_

_I'll look out for it. 加油 mèimei :^)))_

Sehun comes back from the stock room just in time to find Zitao silently screaming into his hands.

 

 

˘

 

It sort of feels like arranging play dates, the way he and Jackson scuttle around to each other's homes when no one else is around. It gives Zitao something to look forward to if the working week doesn't go all that great or Junmi is working, respite from being someone who gradually feels as though they're watching people talking to them from the outside. As soon as it's date time Zitao gets to just be Zitao. And it's sort of like having their old date nights back, which is cool.

Jackson is cool about Zitao practicing painting nails on him so long as they still watch the movie he'd wanted to see. They still talk about Jackson's work and relationship woes, Zitao's complaints with Sehun. Nothing really seems different other than the bag of clothing he arrives with, and even that ingratiates itself. It's casual and easy, Zitao changing when he arrives. Throughout the week he and Jungin, or sometimes Zitao alone now he's getting a better idea of what suits him, manage several trips to clothes stores in the mall.

This is still all gentle, tentative, but it's so comfortable doing it with a friend. Zitao often makes himself feel unhappy if he stands in front of a mirror, but Jackson always finds something or another to say about his choice that sits warm and light in his chest.

"So. How would you feel," Jackson says five minutes into tonight's movie. It's easy enough to hear him over the dialogue neither of them are now listening to, but the fact Jackson is still at least feigning interest prompts Zitao to do the same, staring ahead. "If I introduced you to someone like, yeah, that tall one with all the tacky leopard print, she's my best friend. I've known her forever."

Zitao swats at him more out of embarrassment than for the dig. Pleased, bashful embarrassment, because sometimes Zitao feels like he's just playing a game with all this dressing up. With telling his kind therapist that no he did fit in with the boys at school, that yes he was a sensitive child. At times none of it feels like anything but happiness, like this is just a hobby. But then there's the reality of not being what anyone thinks Zitao is, if he wants to live that happiness.

"How would you feel?" he counters. Jackson has never known Zitao as a _she_.

"Uh. Like I'd like you to stop with the leopard print? I don't know why that girl at your work lets you buy it." Jackson shrugs, then continues. "I'll get bored if you start taking even longer to get ready to go out than you already do. And if you stop accepting my challenges because you don't wanna break a nail then by default I'm the winner."

Zitao rolls his eyes. Looks away and swallows hard around the lump forming in his throat. Jackson is only being as kind as Zitao would hope, but from the stories he's read online hoping doesn't always keep the people around that you want to stay.

"I don't think I want long nails," Zitao says instead of any of that. "Maybe like a little bit. Enough to stick some shiny stuff on."

Jackson snorts. "Figures."

 

"Hey, Tao?"

Zitao raises his head when Jackson nudges gently at his shoulder. The movie hasn't been all that interesting — not as interesting as the forum page Zitao's been reading on his phone about pronoun usage and speech patterns. Jungin could probably help if he got really stuck on how to work it out. "Sorry, I stopped watching," he says, but Jackson shrugs it off.

"I was just thinking, you said Junmi didn't date before you, right, but did she ever say if she had crushes on girls?"

Zitao's brow pinches into a frown. "Not really. I mean, no one, not just girls. Kinda the same as me— "

"Ooh," Jackson coos, "Aren't you special." The concentrated look Jackson had been giving Zitao cracks under a grin. He's teased them both about the circumstances of their somewhat dysfunctional relationship an innumerate amount of times, but it never fails to amuse him and Zitao never fails to flush deep scarlet.

Zitao smacks at Jackson's hand when he's had enough of being poked around. "I'm very special," he agrees indignantly.

"So you think she'll be cool about having a girlfriend? She'll probably be mad that her mom was right in the end that having that haircut would make people think she's a lesbian." Jackson laughs. Zitao blushes.

He's terrified in honesty, and that's why he hasn't thought about when and how to tell Junmi everything. Although he hasn't exactly been subtle so far, and her easy responses have given him a little more hope that he won't be another of the horror stories he's read so many of about people being told to make a choice. "Yeah, I dunno." Zitao's neck feels uncomfortably hot even now he's tugging the collar of today's outfit aside. "She's cool with most things, I guess."

"So you can just be her special girl instead," Jackson encourages. "Be her baby girl."

Zitao lands a well aimed punch to Jackson's shoulder to make for a quick change of subject, and he pointedly doesn't think back on the conversation for the rest of the evening (aided by Jackson's ongoing complaints about Zitao not being considerate with his stupid toned arms). Not until he gets home to an empty apartment late that night, at least, and can spend as long as he likes in the shower trying to sort out the confused, indistinct thoughts.

Being Junmi's girlfriend sounds really, really nice. The tiles against Zitao's back are cold, but not enough to jolt him out of getting way too involved in this idea. He wonders if it's sort of self-defeating to think _baby girl_ with the heel of his palm pressing down against his dick, hand spread so he doesn't see. Willing himself not to think about it doesn't work, though, and guilt doesn't stop him from coming hard enough that the heat and steam of the shower makes him woozy.

 

 

Visiting Junmi at work isn't something Zitao gets opportunity to do all that often, and if he'd known he was going to be invited today he probably wouldn't have jerked off to that thought yesterday and considered it again in the shower this morning. Thankfully he'd been a little too preoccupied with the soreness from his workout — if not he'd probably be squirming more than he already is with Chanyeon staring over at him like she knows.

Or it could just be the necklace he's wearing today — his last discount went towards jewellery from the cabinet beside where he usually looks. Lots of thin, white gold chains with charms that gently beat against his chest as he walks.

 _mi♥♥ hurry up and save me, she's weirding me out_ Zitao sends after a full five minutes of politely folding himself up in a corner of the lobby, Chanyeon's eyes unsubtle and wide looking over from behind the desk.

"These meetings always overrun," Chanyeon pipes up when Zitao compares his phone's time to the wall clock for a second time. "How long's your break?"

Zitao shrugs. It's not like they don't talk; Zitao's been here plenty of times. It's just that they tend to find something to disagree over within thirty seconds. "I can wait twenty minutes before I need to head back."

Chanyeon hums and starts pushing around some papers behind the desk. "When it's coming up to the end of the financial year I think I see more of her than you do," she says, tone pleasant enough that Zitao's not sure whether to bristle. "Though it's nice you have enough free time to fit in seeing her, most people here have partners in the same line of work and they have to schedule being married around their diaries."

Zitao could retaliate to the dig about his job, but Junmi always looks exasperated if she finds them fighting. And he still feels a little unnerved that she's going to pick up on how easily flustered he's been today. He can do pleasant and polite — he was never much of a gentleman, but he doesn't want to be the kind of girl who's claws come out too easily. "It is nice. I like your eyeshadow, by the way."

Chanyeon doesn't have a lot of control over her features, and she gives Zitao a look he's not sure how to interpret. He didn't know her eyes could get any bigger. "It's purple," she says curtly, like that's something he wouldn't understand. Her eyeliner looks like it was done with a shaky hand, purple and lilac powder applied over it to cover blotches. Zitao's not saying his is way better, but when Junmi finally turns up he's feeling a lot calmer than when he arrived.

She looks like she probably ran a little of the way down (well, power walked, it is an office). When she pulls Zitao in for a kiss he can hear her breaths coming harsh. "I'm so sorry, baby, let me just sort something out quick." Junmi gives Zitao's cheek an affectionate pat and then turns to Chanyeon with the papers in her other hand.

"Ok," he says, but she's already at the desk. Watching them talk, Zitao thinks that really he and Chanyeon are more similar to each other than she is to Junmi. They're a similar height, a similar build. Chanyeon's hands are big. Her shoulders are broad, her waist lacking a deep curve. Maybe that's what he and Junmi look like together. He's less clumsy though, definitely.

 

Working in an open office means lunch break visits are generally just standing around in the kitchen together. That's ok, though — Zitao likes getting to walk through the building entirely unsuited to the environment and untouchable. Not so keen on the smell, though. He's glad he doesn't work somewhere that's smelled of new carpeting for the last four years.

"Sorry you came over here for such a short visit," Junmi says around blows to her mug of tea, but Zitao shakes his head. It's not far, and he'd rather see her than spend an hour listening to Sehun justifying the awful shade of lime green in his hair. "Was it today you have your next session?"

"Tomorrow."

Junmi nods and stares into her drink instead of looking back up. "Do you still think it's helping? You don't talk much about it anymore."

"Yeah." Zitao may not have much he can repeat back to Junmi, but he's had more to say to his therapist over the last few weeks than he's been able to tell anyone in years. It's exhilarating, how it's started flooding out so easily. "Yeah, I mean, now we know each other better I think it's working out." Zitao smiles assuringly. "I feel like I've made a lot of progress since I started seeing her. Do you think?"

Junmi's fingers are warm from holding her drink when she reaches to thumb at the nape of his neck. Zitao instinctively dips down a little. He definitely wants to be her baby girl. "I do," she agrees, returning the smile. "You know you can keep seeing her for as long as you need."

"I think," Zitao turns to curl down and in. Cuddling against Junmi when she's in her work clothes always has to be careful, but it's enough. Well worth the subway ride here. "Soon, I can tell you all about it. I'll have lots to tell you."

Junmi squeezes him so tight he has to brace himself against her. "I'll look forward to it. Whenever you're ready, baby Taozi." Her lipgloss has worn thin, but even if it hadn't Zitao wouldn't protest the peppering of kisses to his jaw.

 

 

˘

 

Zitao's never had much of a sense of timing when it comes to sating his curiosity, but the following night actually seems pretty apt, with Junmi home hours earlier than usual and persistently sucking bruises below where the neckline of his shirt will cover. Except Zitao has no idea where to start, and Junmi climbing in and pushing him down to relieve some stress is pretty distracting.

Zitao purses his lips against a particularly sharp, wet kiss to his chest, but the little sound he makes prompts Junmi to raise her head. "Sorry, I got a little carried away," she says with a pleased hum, not sounding sorry in the least for the reddening mark blooming just above Zitao's nipple. "What would you like to do, Taozi?"

"Nothing," he says automatically. But Junmi's lying flat on top of him, and she's not the only one that enjoys Zitao being marked up. Six little bruises for him to wear under his shirt tomorrow, another that'll peek out from beneath his watch strap. If his expression didn't give away that he's a terrible liar, his response to a playful wiggle of her hips against his does.

It's easy enough to tell when there's something on his mind, and sometimes he doesn't mind having it teased and gently bullied out of him. Junmi wouldn't touch without more consent than Zitao's silence, though, especially when he looks so tense. "Nothing-nothing, or we-can-talk-about-it-nothing?" she asks. Zitao shudders through his whole body when the pad of her finger nudges against one of the forming bruises, and ok, maybe she should stop.

"I was just.. I've, recently, I just wondered," Zitao starts, and Junmi gives him an encouraging, indulgent smile. It helps that she finds it endearing when he gets flustered. It helps that even when they may have established a subject as unworkable she's never made him feel bad for it, and knowing that is what gives him the courage to continue. "What's it like? Being a girl and being with a boy."

Junmi blinks at him, quick and fluttering. Then she quirks a brow. "I can order some stuff online, if that's what.."

Zitao's stomach gives a little jolt at the thought, but no, that's not for now. "No— no, it's ok." If he wasn't already pink in the face he's pretty sure he must be now. "That's not why I asked. But, maybe sometime, but not.."

"Ah." Junmi pouts. Could have been fun. She rests her chin on Zitao's shoulder and gives him a little nudge. "I don't know how much I can tell you, baby. Why did you want to know?"

Zitao shrugs. Because he's pretty sure he wants to feel what she's feeling instead. He'd like to know first-hand how she would make her _girlfriend_ feel, and damn it, now his face is burning so hot. "It doesn't matter."

Junmi isn't that easily deterred. She pouts again. "It looks like it matters." It looks like it matters a lot, if the way Zitao's features are slowly, steadily creasing up is much to go by. "If you want to do something different that's fine," she continues, "It's always fine, you know that. We're good at talking about stuff."

"We are," Zitao agrees, because that's a strength of theirs he's very thankful for. But despite that, right now Zitao looks a little stuck for words. And Junmi is still waiting, still settled comfortably between his thighs. When her fingers are drawn back to a mark on his chest he can't say the little ache of distraction isn't a relief.

"Do you want me to try doing things that you do for me?" She offers gently. "Is that what you meant?"

"Uhmm." Zitao had asked without expectations, but that's more than he'd let himself hope for. "Uh. That'd. I—"

Nothing in their apartment is exactly organised, but it takes less time for Junmi to stretch over to the nightstand and locate the lube stashed away in with all their painkillers and supplements than it does for Zitao to sputter out a fully formed response. There's not really any reason to say it'd be too much trouble when it evidently isn't.

"I'd. Yeah," he manages once his tongue feels like it's unstuck from the roof of his mouth. "If you're sure," he adds out of courtesy, but the smile on Junmi's face looks more than keen. She's awful. Zitao resigned himself to being hopeless to the way she can read him a long time ago, though.

"I've done worse." Junmi leans up and kisses him, breaks away with a grin to nose at his flushed cheek. "Come get comfy with me."

Maybe if she'd given him the time to he would have let embarrassment win out and said no, but her eagerness is reassuring, so Zitao does just that, hooking a long leg around her and making a show of settling down. He buries his heated face against Junmi's neck and whines when her laugh is loud so close to his ear. "You don't need to be shy about it, Taozi."

"Waa."

 

It's easier to process his disappointment at not really being into this so far with his face hidden from view. Junmi's fingers are cool and slimy against his skin and neither of those things are appealing. He'd sort of been expecting to feel some affinity for this — to experience something that felt more comfortable to him than using his dick ever has.

It's not like it doesn't work, using it, but it's not like he hasn't always been grateful for Junmi's strong sense of what she does and doesn't want, and that that often doesn't involve it. They're compatible that way. They're incompatible in regards to what those magazines Chanyeon leaves at her desk say, and to friends close enough to share and pry and consolingly pat Zitao like he's not saying how cool it all is. Junmi by far prefers Zitao's mouth, and she's as giving with her praise as Zitao is with his tongue. Despite being slight Junmi is strong enough to push and pull him about as she likes (as he likes), and Zitao is so sensitive to words, so sensitive to far more touches than the obvious. For two people who met unsure that they ever wanted anyone they've got it figured out pretty well.

Low expectations, Junmi usually says, smug and grinning. It's easy to talk about things like that when you're not pressured with expectations, just the promise of a safe space. Junmi's always had a good humoured approach to extracting awkward information from Zitao, and that's probably the reason they're doing this.

"Ready?"

"Ugh," Zitao sounds, like this whole thing was some unpleasant idea of Junmi's and he hadn't started it at all. Junmi's still wearing a tshirt and the fabric feels so soft against his jaw when he buries down further. He should get one the same.

Junmi's giggle is sweet and patient, and there's another at the grumbly noise Zitao makes when she drops a kiss to his hair. "Was that a yes ugh or a no ugh?"

Wetness aside he hasn't actually disliked the unfamiliar touches all that much so far. It was maybe just more give or take than he'd been expecting — alright, but not enough that he's sure he'd ask again. "It was a yes," Zitao says, then takes a deep breath. She's right, they have done far worse, but the context of this is making him anxious.

Well, that and — " _Ahh_." He bodily withdraws, what feels like every muscle in him drawing taut when her index finger stops circling to gently push.

"You're so tense," she says into his hair (entirely unnecessary commentary, to be honest), her free hand rubbing between his shoulder blades.

"Oh my god." Zitao's face feels like it's on fire. "I know. It's weirder than I thought it'd be."

"We've got all night," Junmi soothes. Zitao grumbles. They don't, not if either of them wants to function at work tomorrow. And even if they did he's pretty sure he doesn't want to spend all night with fingers up his ass.

Junmi is diligent in all she does, though, and after a few more minutes of gentle persistence he entirely changes his mind.

 

 

"How was it?" Jackson asks by way of greeting the next day. "Asking for a friend. Obviously."

Zitao hadn't intended to go into quite so much detail about how their evening had developed when he was texting on his way from work, but he was dying to tell someone. It makes him feel a little deflated that Junmi herself isn't the one he can emote to about it, but he hasn't got this figured out enough yet for rocking the boat that much. And really, he's had to hear more than his fair share of gruesome tales about what Jackson gets up to during dry spells. "Obviously."

"So?" Jackson leans in further, rising off his chair a little. However interested he is there's no way Zitao is talking about this in great detail in Starbucks, though, even if they have the option of other languages. Jackson looks wounded when he realises. "I had to put on pants and come all the way out here just to not get details? After all that lead up?"

Zitao nods, yep, and folds his hands at the table edge. "Later." Being a woman of mystery is pretty fun.

"Sis," Jackson huffs, dropping back fully into his seat and slouching down.

Zitao reaches to give his hand a consoling little pat, but he couldn't look sympathetic right now if his life depended on it. He aches very slightly in a weird, not entirely unpleasant way, and his lipgloss today is a dark enough shade to leave prints around the edge of his drink. He feels like he's glowing, and behind Jackson's annoyance at having to be a presentable human being he looks like he's enjoying the rays.

 

 

˘

 

"What?"

Sehun's been staring for an unsettlingly long time. He's even propped himself on the counter so he can stop to admire the view. "Just looking."

Zitao strikes a little pose before continuing with the task at hand. They're supposed to both be putting discount tickets in with these flyers, but Sehun's pile opposite Zitao is almost as big as when they started. "I know I'm really pretty, but.."

Sehun waves him off. "No, it's not that."

Charming. Zitao's been uneasily confident of not attracting any negative attention throughout the day despite wearing what he said he couldn't — the grey shirt with the yellow flowers. He looks nice in it, and he hadn't intended to but holding it up to his front this morning had chased the clouds away. And he can see where Sehun's eyes are focused, but may as well play along. "What then? Do you stare at Jongdae like this?"

"No." Sehun purses his lips. Not directly — there's a mirror as proxy. "I don't know what it is about what you're wearing recently, but you're gonna start distracting customers."

Zitao gives Sehun some wide-eyed flutters of his lashes. Sehun reaches across the counter with both of his big hands and presses them to Zitao's chest. Which, that's— Zitao's not bothered by touch generally, but it catches him off guard and he squeaks. "That's harassment," he says after pushing Sehun's hands away and clearing his throat of that sudden tightness. "I'm gonna get you fired. And get a pretty lady in to replace you."

"Not if I do first." Sehun gestures to his front again, brows raised. "Pretty sure that much cleavage goes against dress code."

"Pretty sure your face does," Zitao grumbles back. His neck feels hot and prickling now. "Anyway you don't need to, you already work with a pretty lady," he huffs. It's a risk to his feelings, making comments like that around people who aren't Jackson, but Sehun just sighs and slowly starts shuffling his pile of flyers.

 

 _mi☆☆☆ that jerk I work with didn't agree that I'm pretty!!_ ٩(๑`^´๑)۶

 _I think you're very pretty_ ♥

 _and he groped me_ (# ﾟДﾟ)

 _That's my job!!_ ε≡≡ﾍ( ´Д`)ﾉ

 

Maybe it's time to start dedicating some serious effort to this. Zitao's chest is curved with muscle as it is, and his growing fondness for shirts with plunging necklines is probably more than a little to do with the slight illusion it creates. It's enough to stop him feeling too uncomfortable about how lacking in softness he is. There's all these clever blending tricks on YouTube with brushes and bronzer, but the opportunity to try it out just hasn't really come yet.

It's been a few weeks since he first tried padding out a shirt. It wasn't as easy as he'd anticipated to get everything in the right place, but even a little crooked it was an improvement. The site he'd followed advice from said the same as Jungin had when they first bought clothes — the worst thing to do is overdo it. But that's ok; Zitao's more fortunate than his friends who wanted to do sports and had no say in if they were a comfortable size for it. It takes less time and squishing around to be the same size as Junmi, if not a little smaller, and that's more than fine.

 

 

Jungin's eyes widen minutely when Zitao mentions this mid-conversation a few days later. He pushes his hands up under his shirt to demonstrate and she snorts into her juice box. "I thought I got the measurements right, but the stuff I ordered online doesn't fit."

"You have to.. it adjusts." Jungin leans over and hovers her fingers above Zitao's shoulder, stretches a little further and then prods. "There's things there. When the strap is there. There's things and you make them longer or shorter."

Zitao twists his mouth in thought for a moment before shaking his head. "I think I just got the whole thing wrong, it didn't fit in lots of places." It wasn't for lack of trying. He can see now why Junmi says the best thing about wearing a bra is taking it off again at the end of the day. He's watched how her arms contort behind her back a hundred times, but his just don't seem to — he's a level four in yoga but he'll be damned if he can figure out how to hold two strips of fabric at the same time and stretch.

Jackson said something about girls he's known do them up at the front and twist, and that worked to an extent, but after fighting into the straps Zitao also kind of felt like he might get cut in three if he couldn't undo it within the following ten seconds.

"I just wondered if you had any advice. Like, any, about anything." What even are those letters on the sizing. He's had one too many lines of hooks and clasps fly up and smack him to keep persisting alone. Trying to explain what happened if he took an eye out isn't how he wants to tell Junmi about this at all.

"I think there's websites for things like that," Jungin says quietly. Her eyes are fixed on the way a charm on Zitao's necklace catches the light, and he can see that, but it still feels like a lot of attention to his chest right when he's not feeling so great about it. "There's websites about everything. There's so many dog sites, no matter how many I look at there's always more." She finally looks away from Zitao's chest, but he suspects in reaching for her phone it's going to mean the rest of their break being taken up with any of the meticulously organised puppy folders in there. "Mine reached another hundred followers so I did a special photoshoot with them a few days ago. I think they always know when it's a special occasion? They're smart like that. And show offs, they love modeling."

"Yeah? Mèimei," Zitao gently persists, "It's ok if you don't want to come, but I was going to go to a proper store to buy some things after work."

"Too loud," Jungin says, frowning at her screen as she flicks back and forth to find the start of the shoot. For a moment Zitao wonders if it's just that she doesn't want the embarrassment — it would be embarrassing, probably, for a girl to go bra shopping with what's assumed to be her boyfriend. But it has always looked very loud and very bright when he's walked past, and Jungin didn't find lecturing him on comfortable underwear styles a problem (who knew there were so many?), so maybe this is just a venture he'll have to go alone.

She's right that there are websites about things like this, he's looked. The initial fascination at finding it wore thin pretty fast when Zitao found out exactly what Jackson had meant by the third category. He just wants some advice, but it turned out pretty hard to find any without things he had to swiftly delete from the browser history coming up between. There's not much Zitao doesn't tell Jackson, but that was one uncomfortable experience he's not sure he wants to explain.

Zitao takes Jungin's phone when it's pushed into his hands. Jjanggu looks very handsome in his special occasion collar. "So how many people follow them now?"

Jungin leans over to swipe along to a photo of them all sitting around a celebratory treat, her hand willing them to stay just in view. _Thank you 7500_ the Line stickers along the bottom read. Huh.

 

Zitao makes it to the store half an hour before closing, alone and still thinking about how casually he's been petting Jungin's famous dogs. His Korean all seems to leave him the moment he walks through the door, though that could just be because he needs to acclimatise to the noise level. There's a lot of leopard print, but for once in his life he walks straight past it.

It takes a little longer than half an hour for Zitao to leave the lights and sparkles with a pretty pastel bag clutched in his hand. The girl had been someone that recognised him — they're a floor apart, but she's been in to look at the jewellery there before (she loves his; he's pretty sure he didn't get away without turning pink at all the touches with her delicate little fingers). It was a relief that he got someone so friendly to talk to. Now he's done it he kind of wants to scream, but he putters along to the subway, bag swinging, without yelling at anyone.

Jackson is generally Zitao's immediate thought when he needs to talk (or scream), but it's Yifan's contact he goes to once he's settled on the train home. Yifan's friend may be on the opposite road to Zitao, but it means he has a gentleness towards the subject that Jackson is still learning. Zitao still tells Yifan a lot about life over here, and Yifan returns it with stories of his days out with Lu Han and the problems and successes they run into. Lu Han is athletic and it brings about some difficulties, Yifan mentioned, and Zitao wholeheartedly sympathises.

Zitao's not entirely sure that they're close enough for this to be comfortable. Bras seem to have a strange effect on most people. His hand is trembling just a little too much for a clear photo of the bag, but the brand is still recognisable.

It'd be a little embarrassing if Yifan was off about this, but it's worth a try, right? It takes a long, tense moment of staring at the _read_ beside his message before Yifan starts typing. Zitao lets out an audible sigh of relief when Yifan's reply comes through, loud enough that the man beside him turns to face away. Yifan gets it.

He replies, _she measured me!!_ 囧 and already he's shaking less.

It's still a lot sometimes. This is a good kind of overwhelming — like riding a wave rather than being sucked under. But it's still one of the biggest things Zitao has done in his life, and there's no turning back now. He doesn't want to have to consider it— to be made to choose between his own happiness and the people he loves. He's never thought the experiences he reads online sound like Junmi, but it's hard not to be a little wary of how and when to explain everything. Sehun.. he might not take it too well. And his parents he might tell in writing, so they have time. He's sure Junmi would love him whatever happened.

("If you're that sure why didn't you tell her from the start?" Jungin asked absently when he mentioned this to her, and he's felt uneasy ever since).

 

 

Zitao falls in love with his sports bra the moment he successfully figures out how to put it on. It's not pretty as such, but it's not painful either. Not painful is a huge plus after his last experience. It feels good — right, having the pressure and feel of straps beneath his clothes. And it's the kind of black that looks a little glimmery in the right light, so really it's pretty much perfect.

He's so pleased with it that he doesn't even bother looking for padding, or reply to Jackson's text that really, he's happy for Tao, but he only wants pictures like that from prospective dates. Zitao spends a good five minutes fiddling with his clothes and making sure the straps are visible before he turns up at the 7-11 a few blocks away with a stupid smile on his face and no idea what to buy.

 

 

˘

 

The first time Zitao leaves the apartment fully padded, fully made up (and fully tucked in his nice new underwear, but hopefully no one else is going to need to notice that) it's to visit his therapist. It's hard to stay on schedule when Zitao wants to stop and check his reflection in every available surface. He looks adorable, if he does say so himself, even if the experience is getting increasingly nerve racking the nearer to the subway he gets.

He's really not sure if it's a relief or a disappointment that once he's safely zipped into a baggy jacket no one looks at him as though there's any more to see than usual. Which with this face isn't going to be a disappointment to them, honestly, but Zitao isn't quite the same Zitao he was last time he made this journey.

He's been thinking on it for a while, and now feels like the time to ask about that referral. It's taken some long nights of researching, translating, and creating ridiculous unidentifiable profiles on forums, but he definitely thinks he wants what's on offer. He tentatively gave Junmi a deadline for when they'd need to sit and talk about things; aside from actually making the appointment that was the final step. The nervous excitement sure beats all those nights of battling that unplaceable discomfort, but there's a lot of it. There's a lot to consider — not for Zitao himself; this is right for Zitao. It always has been. But for his future, his relationships, his job, his family—

 _I knew id cry before I even got there_ (´Д⊂ヽ

_u can do it!! just think abt ur future boobs when u start the next stage. 加油 jiějie :))))_

 

 

˘

 

Junmi swears it's entirely coincidental that her first night off in a week happens to fall on the same night that movie she's been pining after all month has a late showing. And she's right, Zitao supposes, that it'd be a waste of the night to spend it at home undoubtedly complaining about work. Still, he would have liked some time alone together. She tends to get so wrapped up in movies it's not worth attempting normal conversation for the rest of the day.

Zitao's probably still going to enjoy it though, even if she's too engrossed to make out in the back and he can't understand finer details of the plot. He's not as crazy about robots and superpowers as Junmi is, but he's never one to turn down some explosions.

He's almost mastered wiggling into the bra with a kind of ease now, and he only had to touch up what make up has worn off throughout the day, so it doesn't take long for him to get ready — about the same time it takes Junmi to do her make up. He can hear her grumbling from out in the hallway where he's picking through shoes.

"No offense," she calls when she hears him laughing, "But I have no idea how you have the patience to do this every day." Junmi's pretty sure the red and gold blended over her eyelids won't be up to Zitao's standards, and she's certain that the creator of the tutorial she followed would be being generous giving more than a 4/10 for effort. But needs must, and coordinating with Iron Man is a great, great need.

"It's fun," Zitao calls back. Junmi snorts loud enough that he hears it. It's more fun with a steady hand and an interest in colour palettes, maybe. "Do you want me to finish it up?"

Junmi gives her reflection a frown and a few blinks. Terrifying. "I'm pretty much done. I kind of look like I have an eye infection.."

Such a charming date. Bored, Zitao steps back level with the hall mirror to check his outfit again. The neckline needs a little tugging around if he's been moving his arms in a way that pulls on the sleeves, but the straps only show enough to look like part of the outfit. It'd look a lot nicer filled out properly. Zitao's reflection turns pouting.

It's so tempting to pad more frequently, but at work Sehun is surprisingly observant for someone who takes such a lax interest in their surroundings. Not observant enough to notice what Zitao thought was becoming an obvious difference, admittedly. What do boys know anyway.

Zitao's standing with his palms pressed to his front when Junmi pads out in her Iron Man socks to join him. They came from the same store as her phone cover and the coffee mug she was told isn't suitable for an office environment. She kind of has two men in her life. Though the one she spends the most time with looks pretty out of it right now.

"Can I join in?" She asks with a grin. She presses up against his back and slots her hands under his arms, and doesn't anticipate at all the way Zitao locks up when her hands cover his own.

Zitao's just thinking of straps. She might feel them, or— for a split second he forgets that there's nothing there for her hands to find. "Don't," he says sharply. It's just panic that makes him shake her off, keen to bundle up and pull his jacket around his chest. For a moment Zitao is so self absorbed, checking to make sure everything is still in tact and nothing's showing that shouldn't be. What he's done hits him with a tightness in his chest and throat when he realises. "Mi, I'm sorry—"

Junmi looks more confused than she does hurt, a little step back away from him. "Me too?" She folds her arms and squeezes her hands in tight at her sides to resist the temptation to reach out. It'd be kind of nice to know he wouldn't flinch away again. "Are you feeling ok?"

Zitao nods. It's ruining his lips chewing at them like this. It's so hard to keep all of this frustration under wraps sometimes, but it's not Junmi's fault. It's not her fault at all that he feels guilty hiding this, or that he's been too full of excuses to tell her. "'m fine. I'm sorry, I just.." He doesn't know what, so he just offers her a hand. It's not enough to make up for how patient she's been with him recently, he knows. He has maybe felt a little snappy. It's uncharacteristic for him and he doesn't like it, but Sehun can't even see that he's changing, and Junmi.. nothing is her fault. She's not had a bad word to say about any of the changes he's been making so long as he's been happy.

When she takes his hand she swings it a little, squeezing. "Do you think you'll be ready to talk soon?" she asks, bringing her free hand up to push her hair away from her eyes. She doesn't look angry. Zitao's not sure he deserves that right now. "I'm worried about you," she continues, breaking eye contact to look down at their fingers. "I don't know why there's something you can't tell me."

Zitao swallows thickly, giving his head a little shake. "It's complicated," he says honestly, and that probably only makes it worse.

 

From her lack of response when Zitao slips a hand under the arm rest and onto Junmi's thigh he can only assume she's either ignoring him or is lot more absorbed in the movie than in dwelling on earlier. She still turns her hand and offers it to hold when he reaches, though, and even after their palms start to get clammy she doesn't pull away. Zitao's never cried during so many explosions and car chases before, but there's a first time for everything.

 

It takes Junmi almost as long to take off her make up as it did to apply it. Zitao did his earlier when he got changed in the bathroom, squirming out of the bra and folding it in amongst the rest of his clothes.

He's been in bed since, curled up tight with the covers pulled over his shoulders. Junmi's been giving a running commentary on how many make up wipes this is taking and he's obligingly made interested sounds. She's barely mentioned the movie. Zitao's spent most of the lapses in conversation desperately trying to organise some thoughts. Up until tonight he's maybe been idealising how telling Junmi everything will be — he's always imagined there'll be print-outs to cover any terms his tongue is still unfamiliar with, his therapist's notes to back it all up. They could be somewhere nice holding hands.

"I've scrubbed my eyes so much I can't tell if the make up is off or not." Junmi makes a face at her reflection. It'd feel nice to get rid of the stickiness on her eyelids and do her full routine, but that involves spending time in the bathroom, and she really doesn't feel like leaving Zitao right now. Her hand isn't shaking when she reaches to get the light, but her insides feel as though they are.

Zitao doesn't move when she slips in beside him. "Are you sleeping already?" she asks softly, and when Zitao shakes his head she wriggles in close, slotting against his back and the bend in his knees, pressing her forehead to the broad stretch of his shoulders. Zitao can't resist that he's drawn to touch, and he feels Junmi lose some tension when he settles back against her, hand resting over the arm around his waist.

For a long moment Zitao battles with the words at the tip of his tongue, unsure what to say. Or how to say it, or whether Junmi's breaths hot and steady against his back will even out into sleep if he just waits long enough. He shouldn't wait for that. "I'm sorry about earlier," he says eventually. "I'm sorry if I ruined your night."

Junmi gives her head a little shake that he feels against his shoulder blade. "It doesn't matter." There's a long pause before she sighs his name, and Zitao knows what's coming. "If you're still not ready to talk I can keep waiting, but it's.. It's scaring me, Taozi."

Anticipating this doesn't make it any easier. He wants to stop her now, but even if her worries are off the mark he figures it's better to still let her go ahead and share them. Maybe it'll be a relief when she knows it's not those things. Zitao's always been a little lacking in caution in the optimism department.

"I don't want to push you before you're ready," she continues, and she's only got this partly thought through. She isn't sure it's going to come out right, but it's now or never. "But I hate thinking there's something you don't feel you can tell me. If there's a problem that I'm causing.. if it's my work or me or, or how our relationship is, if something isn't ok I'd rather you told me so we could try and do something."

Saying this all to Zitao's back instead of his face might be a little cowardly, but they're a lot better at talking than they are fighting. Not that this is a fight, but the few people she's let slip to that her relationship is the reason she's seemed a little distracted recently have made it sound like it should be. Minho's been at the desk opposite hers and heard about their relationship from the start — he's the nicest guy she knows, and even he suggested investing in a decent pair of scissors and some alone time with Zitao's favourite shirts.

She doesn't expect his grip to turn so tight, or for him to sound more choked up than she is. "It's nothing like that. It's not you, I'm—" The squeeze to her wrist lets up and Zitao's definitely crying now, both hands at his face. She can feel it through his shoulders, hunching in and trembling.

Junmi was going to try so hard not to get emotional, but this feels like it can only be something really bad and her throat is getting so tight. "I haven't known what to think, Tao. I've been so worried it was me or, I don't know, I was getting scared you wanted to move back home? When you said you'd been talking to that guy from highschool so much I thought it might be making you miss being there."

Zitao turns then, so abruptly Junmi gets a knee to her thigh and their shoulders collide. "No. No, no, no." Zitao is so big, but he makes that easy to forget sometimes in the way he tucks in under her chin. He wouldn't ever leave, and for a moment all he can think to do is wrap himself around her so tight. He'd wanted to do this so much better. "I just didn't want you to go, or hate me, or— I had to be sure before, first, in case.."

Now it's her turn to squeeze tight. Her arms don't reach as completely around Zitao as his encircle her, but she holds him just as securely. Hating Zitao is the last thing she wants to do — the last thing bar leaving him. She's pretty sure at least half of her tears are ending up in his hair, but if they are it's not prompting him to move. "Then— then that's a good start, if we both.. Tell me now, and we can figure it out." It's not a question — they've always been good at talking. "I'm sure we can, Taozi, whatever it is."

Yeah. There's not really any going back from here. This isn't like telling Jackson was. But it's not like telling his therapist, either — legs folded and hands clasped over his knee, feeling so sure. When he looked down and saw the little outward curve of his shirt the words came out even easier than when he'd rehearsed them. But he hasn't rehearsed this at all beyond, "Do you know what being transgender is?"

"Oh. Yes," Junmi says faintly, and her grip on Zitao's shoulder tightens. "Yeah, I.. yeah, I know what it is."

"Oh," Zitao echoes, because he's getting used to having to explain. Well, that sort of makes this easier. His heart effectively blocking his throat doesn't. "It's.. I've been, I'm so sorry— I wasn't hiding it from you, I just had, had a lot to learn about and understand and make sure. But I am sure, now." Zitao gulps hard to try and shift the lump in his throat, but it doesn't budge. "So n.. now I am I need to start changing properly so I won't be unhappy anymore.

Mi," he nudges gently when she doesn't say anything in the pause, risking untucking from under her chin. It's dim in the room anyway, but he stays focused on her shoulder rather than meeting her eye. "I keep thinking all this stuff about if I could be your girlfriend, but then I don't really know if you'd be ok with it. I read so much about how people aren't and I just got really scared and— like, Sehun, I don't think Sehun's going to be ok about it, but I've felt so happy and I was so scared you'd.." Zitao stops for a breath, and maybe that's enough for now. Junmi's hold on him hasn't loosened at all.

"Taozi," she starts eventually. Slowly, like she's unsure of it and hesitating for correction. Zitao has to move when she wiggles an arm out from under him to wipe the back of her hand over her wet face, but she pulls him right back in with the hand tight at his shoulder. "I love you," she says, vehement, declarative. "Did you think I hadn't noticed you changing? I didn't know exactly why, but it's not like.. the clothes, and some of the things you've been saying.. I've known there's been something."

Zitao sniffs loudly. He's changed a lot. "I felt this way for so long, but I just hadn't known there were words for it. I didn't know it was a.. a thing I could do. A thing I could be. I didn't know it was why I felt so sad. I didn't mean to lie—"

Junmi dismisses that with a shake of her head. "You haven't been. I don't know all that much about things like this, but enough to.. I just," Zitao hunches in a little when her tone sharpens. "Why didn't you think you could tell me? I can't help my hours. I try to get as much time away as possible. I know I haven't been here as much as you'd like, but there's nothing I can do if we want to keep living here." She doesn't sound angry though. Not at him. Hurt, maybe, and he can understand that.

"It's not that. It's not. And I didn't not tell you because you're you. You're—" She's always been fine with their relationship not being what anyone else wants it to be. She's always been wonderful to him, whatever anyone has had to say about them. "It just doesn't work out for so many people. I was scared about everything, Mi — my job and, and living here with you, and Mama Kim, and h, how it would be for you at work and stuff. That kind of.. It's not just about me."

Junmi considers that for a moment before she tugs to get Zitao settled back in under her chin. He willingly goes. "It is about you, baby Taozi." Junmi's fingers slide up over the soft, short hair behind his ear and she grips, rubs, strokes. Zitao melts into it, whether it's safe to relax just a little right now or not. "I think something like this, it's about you first and about what happens next second. You wouldn't not do it, right?"

Zitao gives his head a little shake. "I was really hoping that I wouldn't need to choose. Are— " he gently butts his nose against her collarbone, "Are you ok? Are you mad with me?"

"I'm ok. Just sad," she says, and Zitao squeezes his eyes shut against a fresh wave of tears. "I'm sorry if you felt you couldn't tell me and had to do this alone. I'd have helped." She laughs softly, but it comes out a little choked, "I'd have been really bad at it, but I'd have tried to help, anyway."

Oh.. That kind of sad. That's the best kind of sad Zitao could have hoped for, if there is such a thing. He sniffs again and dabs at his eyes with the neck of her shirt. "It really wasn't like that.. When Jackson found out he didn't know a thing about it. I didn't either, really. I was scared if I couldn't explain.. or if I tried it and it wasn't what I wanted in the end, it'd worry you too much for no reason."

Junmi's not sure if that makes it feel better or worse. It makes sense that Jackson knows. It means Zitao had support. "Is Jackson the only person you've told?"

Zitao nods, pauses, then shakes his head. "Kind of. Jungin from work, too, though we never really talked about it all that much? She helped with what was good to buy, but she just sort of went along with it. I, uh.." his chest aches with how hard his heart has been working for the last five minutes. "I have a, I have a bra and.. and stuff, she helped with things like that. I was kinda useless trying to do it on my own."

Junmi's fingers twitch at his shoulder. She makes a little sound over his head that he knows just how to read. She is a little possessive — always has been. And if that's her biggest issue with what he's just said then, well, that's probably one of the easier things to put right. After all the worrying it seems bizarre to just be talking about this. "Ok," Junmi says quietly, "I'm glad you didn't have to be alone."

"Yeah." Zitao can't keep apologising for the same thing, so he just wiggles in a little tighter. His eyes are starting to get heavy, both from the late hour and the wipe out following expending so much emotion. Sleeping feels like it'd be pretty nice, but whether it's achievable is another matter. "Is there.. There's other stuff we should talk about, right?"

Junmi sighs. It's warm through Zitao's hair and makes him squirm a little. "There is, but maybe not tonight. I'm glad it makes sense now. And that I know what's happening." She presses a kiss to his forehead and then her lips to his hair. "Are you comfortable like this?"

"Mm." Sort of. It's worth the stiffness in his joints to stay like this. Zitao wasn't expecting this to be easy. He's relieved to have been right that Junmi wouldn't react like all those awful stories he's been unable to avoid, but half an hour on he's still thinking, and he knows that Junmi isn't really asleep either.

 

 

Zitao wakes the next day feeling like a ton of bricks fell on him during the night. It's later in the morning than he'd thought when he checks his phone; Junmi's long since left for her usual Sunday overtime. It's nerve racking not having her here to talk to about what happened last night. That Zitao recalls it didn't go all that badly, but things have a tendency to look different the morning after. Seeing she hasn't even opened any messaging apps today makes him want to stay in bed and cry.

It's a good thing he listened to the complaints from his stomach and opted for seeking out some breakfast instead, because there's a note waiting for him on the kitchen counter. Zitao hesitates with his fingers still on the fridge door when he notices it. From a side-on glance it looks as though Junmi had to consciously slow down and remember to print for him a few times.

"'I know leaving without saying goodbye is no way to treat a lady'," Zitao mumbles out loud, freezes, and nearly drops both the note and the carton of milk still in his hand. Oh. _Oh_. Maybe best to put that down. _but I promise I kissed you before I left. I'm sorry I had to go before we could talk, but if you can come and meet me after work maybe we could fit in a quick date_ ^^

 

 

After work dates on Sunday tend to just be walking to the subway, finding somewhere to pick up some food, and then back home again together. Junmi looks like she's ready to go straight to bed when Zitao finds her propped up on a bench a little way away from the spot they usually meet at.

Zitao's not felt as anxious seeing her since that time he in panic had forgotten all about safe words and locked himself in the bathroom for half an hour. It's a similar kind of nervous, waiting to see if she was ok with unintentionally upsetting him — not being sure how much apology was his own. That had ended in cake and cuddles. Maybe it's a little optimistic to think this could be the same, but Zitao can hope. Zitao always does.

Junmi gives him a distinctly disappointed look when he sits beside her. "I thought you might have dressed differently," she pouts, sitting up straighter and pushing her hair up out of her eyes. "I was all geared up for escorting a glamorous model home."

Zitao's really got to get this urge to scream under control. He shrugs and picks at one of the frayed holes in his jeans. "I wasn't sure, so I though this would be better." This is the first time he's not worn anything under his shirt since the day he started buying underwear, and he's feeling more insecure without the feel of straps over his shoulders and the tightness around his chest than he'd anticipated. He ducks his head down a little and puffs out a breath. "I thought it might be too much."

"Maybe." Junmi smiles and reaches up to thumb at the nape of his neck. She looks tired, but she sounds the same as always. Her smile isn't the kind she gives to Mama Kim's helpful advice just to make her stop. "I'd been trying to imagine it, but then I wasn't sure what you'd wear. Or if you'd have longer hair, or shoes that make you seven feet tall, or.. Then I thought it'd probably just be best to wait."

Zitao's mouth twists into a little smile. He doesn't want to break the peace between them, but it feels safer to than it did last night. It has to happen sooner or later. "Are you just being nice because you don't want to upset me?"

Junmi looks hurt first, then it softens. It's not always easy to leave her work persona in the office where it belongs; if Zitao is concerned this is diplomacy that'd be understandable. "I'm probably going to mess up and say or do the wrong thing sometimes while I'm learning," she confesses, dropping her hand back down to link her fingers in her lap. She has three tabs of reading open on her phone and only got a quarter of the work done that she should have this morning. "However you look at it it's a change for us. But I think if we make sure to talk a lot then we'll be ok."

She looks to Zitao, and he nods. He still looks a little unsure whether to relax or not. "I was worried that you might want to.. I don't know, maybe move away and make your life something else," she continues, and this time Zitao shakes his head. Hard enough that his earrings swing. They still again before Junmi's hand reaches them, so she just cups his jaw instead, slips her fingers up into his hair. It's a good thing Zitao's never been opposed to PDA, because she's not sure she could stop.

It might be a little less easy to be so casually affectionate in public in future, Zitao thinks, so he makes the most of leaning into the touch. "But," he says softly, "I didn't know if you'd want a girlfriend. Even if you were ok about it all."

Junmi pouts again before letting it pull up into a smile. "Dating at all wasn't something I'd really considered until we met. There's a lot to think about, I know, but you'll always be my Taozi, and that's.. Oh." Her smile turns a little sheepish as she drops her hand to Zitao's and squeezes. "Well. If you want to be Taozi, that is."

 

They start the walk back with Zitao's arm loose around Junmi's waist, hips bumping each time they step out of sync. Pretty easy to do with their difference in leg length, but it only makes her lean into him more. Things weren't exactly tense before, but if it weren't for the residual lethargy from his bad night Zitao would probably feel like skipping all the way back.

"So." Junmi nudges Zitao's shoulder when they stop to wait for a red light. Her hand creeps a little way up his back, drawing herself nearer. "One of the things I read earlier said that a lot of people find it hard meeting, uh.. People can find it hard meeting the.. updated? Version of the person. Whenever you think we should do that."

Zitao shifts his weight a little. "It's not like, dresses and heels and things. I'm pretty much the same. Just.. different?" Hmm. He shakes his head, and Junmi smiles up at him. The heel of her palm has found it's way to that really nice spot below his shoulder blade. It's distracting. "You're off on Tuesday, right? Maybe then."

Junmi hums agreement. Her hand stays at Zitao's back as they cross. "You're my girlfriend starting as soon as you want, though. You were just waiting until I knew, right?"

That sounds good. Makes Zitao feel warm from his cheeks to the pit of his stomach, too. He hasn't had to refer to his happy list in so long now, but he's pretty sure this would top it. "Now," Zitao says without hesitation. Jackson's been using pronouns interchangeably for the last few weeks, waiting for the word to change over full time. "I'd like to now."

 

 

˘

 

Zitao gets off work two hours before Junmi is due home, but by the time she's texted to say she'll be five minutes Zitao's still not done organising all of the clothing she's been amassing over the past few months into the closet. Zitao spent most of work propped up against the counter thinking about what outfit to wear tonight. If Junmi's going to be formally introduced to her girlfriend, then Zitao.. well, she knows Junmi will say something nice regardless, but that's not the point.

Zitao hurries to the door when she hears a key in the lock, doing a last quick outfit check in the hall mirror. She's just in jeans and a tshirt essentially, make up a little starker, jewellery less heavy silver and more delicate gold. Same but different. Well, and her chest. That's probably the most obvious difference.

Junmi walks in just as Zitao is giving the padding a final squish around. They both squawk and turn to face away, Zitao flushing scarlet and Junmi dropping her bag and keys. "Sorry! Sorry, I didn't see anything," Junmi says from behind her hands, and she is sorry, but she can't help the burst of giggles that follows. It probably is a little down to nerves, but that calms when Zitao's hands gently rest over hers.

 

In honesty Junmi isn't all that surprised by how much clothing Zitao has managed to come into possession of without her noticing. When it's all in a pile it looks fairly similar, and Junmi's maybe been willfully letting Zitao think she's been keeping some things a secret.

"We should go together sometime," Junmi suggests, reaching into the closet to feel the material of a warm looking sweater. Zitao's always looked good in whatever Zitao wants to look good in — Junmi's looking forward to seeing her in some of these.

"You hate shopping trips," Zitao reminds her with a grin. Junmi gives her a long-suffering look over her shoulder.

"Shopping trips with my mom. You don't try and dress me up like a middle aged Disney princess."

Zitao giggles. Mama Kim was so excited to have a girl the second time around, but it's the one thing in life Junmi's not been an overachiever at. "Maybe Mama Kim should take me shopping instead." She says it out of giddy happiness, not seriousness, but it still noticeably dampens the atmosphere. Telling Mama Kim isn't going to be a pleasant experience.

Junmi looks a little tense when she steps away from the closet and reaches for Zitao's hand. She gives her roughly painted nails a little smile as their fingers link, then asks: "Have you decided how to tell Mama Huang yet?"

Zitao makes a face. Ok she started it, but admiring her clothing was a lot more fun. "I'm gonna write, I think. She won't pay attention if it's an email. I want to explain everything properly. I know some people feel like the old them has gone, but I.. I haven't been unhappy as a boy?" Zitao shrugs and swings their hands a little when Junmi gives her a concerned look. "I don't feel like I'm moving on and starting over? Just changing so I'm right. All the things from when we thought I was a boy are still things and memories I want to keep. I want to try and get them to understand.

And it'd be bad to forget how handsome I was," Zitao adds, chin jutted out, but Junmi's pressing in so close with her arms around Zitao. It makes Zitao lose the thread of what she was thinking about, the gentle pressure of Junmi's chest against her own.

Junmi pushes up onto her toes to press a kiss to Zitao's jaw. "Even if it takes some time, I'm sure they'll be ok with it eventually."

Maybe. Zitao's always been a very loved child, there's no doubt about that. "I think in the end it'd be more important that I'm happy. Just.. maybe not to start. I dunno." Zitao shrugs. That's for worrying about another day. "Anyway. How is.." She glances down between them. Junmi smiles up at her. "Is it weird?"

"It's interesting," Junmi says with a tilt of her head, easy and honest. "Aren't I lucky, they're pretty much at eye level."

" _Mi_." Zitao swats at her shoulder. Of course she wouldn't be any less awful to a girlfriend. Zitao loves her so much.

"Sorry." Junmi's grinning like she isn't at all. She's glad that Zitao has been so happy in the days since they talked, and relieved that she's finding supporting her so easy. It's a lot of small changes and a few pretty big ones, but nothing that feels too much. Other than Junmi's complete lack of useful advice on things a little more feminine than she's used to, but Zitao has Jungin and the audience of her famous puppies for that. Minho's the only person she's mentioned this to so far, and like the enthusiastic cheerleader he's always been for her it's been him that's helped her adjust to using different pronouns so fast.

It is different for sure, pulling Zitao in for a kiss and feeling curves that weren't there before. The smell of Zitao's hair products and favourite aftershave hasn't changed though, nor the taste of gloss on her lips. It might be a little soon for second base — getting Zitao's flustered is always fun, but Junmi wouldn't touch without asking. The thought strikes, though. She must have a telling smile on her face when they part; Zitao's pouting at her suspiciously.

"They'll grow one day," Zitao says, drawing back her shoulders and pushing forward a little to emphasise the point. "But they'll be littler than yours probably."

Junmi hums against Zitao's jaw, fingers creeping up into her hair. This evening is passing way too fast. "Knowing how competitive you are, we'll have to see."

 

 

˘

 

Perhaps a little surprisingly, it turns out Sehun's crush is worth all the staring.

Jongdae's salon looks deceptively plain from the outside. Zitao's distracted by all of the art on the walls and how much shiny gold there is everywhere when Jongdae approaches. He greets Zitao with a smile that leaves her feeling a little warm, though from Sehun's lengthily descriptions of his mouth and his cheekbones and his awful nasal laugh the introduction wasn't really necessary.

"Uh," Zitao peers over at the book on the desk in hope of seeing how she's written in there. Sehun's instructions couldn't have been more vague. He didn't even explain why there were instructions in the first place. "Sehun said to just say he sent me..?"

Zitao's pretty sure Sehun would need to lie down if he could see how Jongdae's lit up at his name. "Ah, Tao!" Jongdae exclaims. It's the most keen to meet her any stranger has ever sounded. Zitao blinks at him curiously as he waves away a stylist that's been hedging closer and steers Zitao aside with a hand gentle in the curve of her back.

"Sehunnie explained that you might be a little nervous," Jongdae says quietly. The way he grimaces at 'explained' makes Zitao think Sehun probably said it in language he's careful not to use around her. "So if there's anything I should know or can do..?"

"Oh. That's.." Surprisingly considerate. Huh. Unnecessary, though; Zitao's been looking forward to this all week. "That was nice of him, but I'm ok. Thanks anyway."

"Great." Jongdae beams up at her. "Did you have ideas or can I be let loose?"

"I'd like it lighter. But—" Jongdae's hand stays at her waist as he steers her towards a chair. Zitao's probably getting a little pink again. He's only Junmi's height and Zitao's not wearing flats, but Jongdae's got a steady, charming way about him that Zitao could definitely get used to. "But I'm not as into bright crazy colours as Sehun is. My girlfriend's mama is kind of a dragon about things like that, and she's not all that happy with me right now already."

"Hmm." Jongdae rests a hand on his hip and gives Zitao a long, considering stare. "Shame. But I have some good less bright and crazy ideas too."

For a second Zitao thinks he's about to touch her face, but his hand just hovers, prompting her to look up. She'll probably be a little more patient with Sehun's incessant pining from now on.

 

After an hour of work and at least fifteen minutes of discussing the fact that Sehun discusses her (it's kind of obvious he just doesn't know what to think or say, but Jongdae seems to be leading him in the right direction), Zitao's hair is a pale, silky lilac. It's so pretty. And she had said no crazy colours, but Jongdae was right that it's a huge difference to if she'd just gone lighter with blonde.

 

 

The experience with Jongdae was an overwhelmingly positive one, and the walk home feeling like a model (not for the first time, honestly; just a different kind of model. The kind who has heels that click with the sway of their hips) was pretty fun too. Really fun, but this is definitely Zitao's favourite part — Junmi's eyes wide, her hands working before her mouth and appreciating Zitao as fully as they can.

"My mom is going to murder you," Junmi says before anything else. She sounds concerned, but she looks delighted. She's finally giving up on the blonde; Zitao taking over as family disappointment is placing the role in good hands. "If you turn up for lunch with purple hair, she's going to murder you."

She can try, Zitao thinks, but she's pretty sure Mama Kim wouldn't want to risk all that mess on her carpet. Zitao was given strict instruction to _not appear any different_ around the rest of the family until Mama Kim feels ready for them to know; Zitao somehow feels that she might just have to bite her tongue about this change.

"Do you like it?" Zitao grins. Junmi's immediate situation in her lap pretty much answered that, but Zitao isn't one to miss a compliment.

Junmi nods enthusiastically and runs her fingers through again. Zitao leans into it, preening. "I'm dating the most beautiful girl in the world," she says far too sincerely for Zitao to not groan with embarrassment.

"Oh my god." Zitao leaves Junmi to balance herself so she can use both hands to cover her face. To hide the blush and to hide from the way Junmi's grinning at her. She's the worst. "When I start taking my shots I'll get even prettier, and then what are you going to say?"

Junmi scrunches her nose at the thought of needles. Zitao's a lot braver than she is. "Then I'll have to retract my previous statement and reissue it."

"That's cheating," Zitao whines, but Junmi's still cooing over her hair, so she can probably let it slide.

 

 

˘

 

Zitao's always been more of an early bird than Junmi, and on the morning of their planned shopping trip she's up and dressed before Junmi's even brushed her teeth. She says it's ok for Junmi to take her time, but Zitao looks distinctly like a puppy sitting at the door with it's leash, so Junmi doesn't.

 

"Have you thought any more about your name yet?" Junmi asks when they're on the train. It's not too busy now rush hour has passed, and Junmi wouldn't not ask even if the sound of the tracks wasn't there to muffle the conversation.

Zitao gives her head a little shake. "I want to tell my mama first. I like the name she gave me, too."

"Yeah." Junmi nods. It's going to be strange not having a Taozi anymore, if that's what Zitao decides. "Please don't ask Jackson to help you pick something," she says, wincing. Zitao laughs. It's a good thing Jackson's never ventured further than pet fish — he doesn't have to call those names in public.

It hasn't been as high a priority as other things, but Zitao has been giving it some thought. Mostly trying out various things online where nobody knows not to call her differently, changing her profiles to see how they look. Yifan has obligingly been updating her contact details, however silly some of the suggestions have been. "When it's time," Zitao says, looking away as she runs a hand up into the back of her hair, "Maybe you could help me decide."

It's another hot humid day outside and the a/c on here is up pretty high, but Junmi's face is suddenly flushed with heat. They've been together long enough that not many gestures still get her flustered over the idea of sharing a life with someone. That's a big one, though. "If you like." She smiles when Zitao looks back to her, and Zitao does the same.

Wow. So that's going to happen. Junmi changes hand-holds so she can purposely sway against Zitao's side.

 

Jackson volunteered to come along as moral support for the less feminine members of the party and joined them twenty minutes in. He said he needed a new shirt for an interview or a date or something, but the only one he's looked at all morning was due to Junmi pointing it out. Jackson knows they have a lot to sort out between them, but fact is he misses Zitao's insufferable company.

"How long do shopping trips last for, exactly?" Junmi's been doing her utmost to not complain about how many identical stores they've been into, but her feet are starting to ache. Jackson, appointed bag handler, looks like he's just starting to flag, too.

Zitao's the one that's been busily rummaging and trying things on and spending money, but she doesn't seem to be losing any vitality at all. It only took two stores for her to lose the little bit of apprehension about doing this with her two favourite people — she has good taste in favourite people, after all — and she's been on a roll since. "For as many places as there are you want to visit," Zitao pouts, but she does concede to stopping for a break.

 

There's a moment of pause in front of the store bathrooms when Jackson turns right, Junmi left, and Zitao stays where she is, uncertain. Zitao's all in tight leather, a button up, flat shoes. "Am I—" she starts with a concerned look towards Jackson, but then Junmi reaches for her hand and pulls.

Zitao reapplies and re-reapplies her lipgloss and fluffs and re-fluffs her hair again and again for an excuse to stay in front of the basin mirrors and well out of anyone's way while she waits. Only one other person comes in before Junmi is out, and Zitao holds her breath until they've passed without comment.

Junmi looks up into the mirror while she's washing her hands just to scrunch her nose and make a face at Zitao's reflection. Zitao tries to pout, but it keeps curling up into a smile. "You're not the only tall girl in the world," Junmi says gently. She sticks her hands under the dryer before Zitao can respond. It's true, so Zitao just nods. Maybe she could rope Chanyeon into a day out somehow and observe.

Jackson's likely dying a slow death waiting outside for them, so Zitao makes a move towards the door. "I promise only an hour more, maximum. Then you can spend the rest of your day off recovering."

"Taozi, wait a moment." Junmi beckons Zitao back closer. The look up and down she gives her is a little unreadable, and for a moment has Zitao wondering if making out in public bathrooms is like, allowed. Because that could definitely be beneficial to their time constraints. Instead of anything like that, though, Junmi reaches up and feels out the straps over Zitao's shoulders with the same thoughtful look on her face.

"Mi—?" Zitao just about keeps in a surprised shriek when she suddenly tugs, but doesn't quite manage at her deft fingers hooking under the band through her shirt and doing the same. Well that was a lot less pleasant than she'd been expecting.

"Better." Junmi's grin looks genuine, not teasing. Zitao supposes after four years if anyone's going to be allowed to snap her straps it'd be Junmi. "I was being helpful," Junmi points out, just in case Zitao didn't appreciate the readjustment.

"Waa."

Zitao looks the kind of flustered Junmi knows means she's pleased.

 

"What is it with girls taking forever." Jackson shakes the bags he's holding at them both in annoyance. Junmi steps aside; Jackson catches Zitao's thigh and takes a few more swings. They all belong to her, after all. "My arms are going to fall off," he grouses as they set off again. He'd offered to carry everything to be chivalrous, but that wore off after the fourth store. He only looks slightly placated by Zitao giving his bicep a consoling pat and thanking him for being so incredibly big and strong.

"There's only a few more things I need," Zitao says to an unanimous groan. She's been shopping for all occasions today — things for work that don't toe the line of the dress code, casual clothes, outfits for potential future work events. Now Zitao is this Zitao full time there's a lot of closet gaps to fill. (Well, not literally; Junmi was pretty possessive of Zitao's old boy clothes). "It's not been really bad, right?" she asks with a look between them both.

Jackson has a tendency to express emotions with his eyebrows when he's nervous. He squawks when Zitao sees through the big smile and shoulders him. More femininity hasn't really given Zitao any more delicacy, but it's not like Jackson doesn't enjoy a good opportunity to clutch dramatically at a mortal wound. "We're here for you, sis," he says, wincing, "If I was dating you I'd have taken my getaway call an hour ago."

Hmm. Good enough. Junmi grins at her and swings their hands when Zitao reaches. They've definitely attracted a few looks since they've been here, but these are just the kinds of hazards to expect when you're dating the most beautiful girl in the world, Junmi supposes.

"I'm definitely having a nice time," she says, and laughs when that makes Zitao's eyes narrow. Ok, it's definitely not one of her favourite past times, but generally any time they can spend together is good with her. "Get everything you need, baby, we'll be ok."

Whether it involves traipsing around clothes stores for hours or is a little easier, like trying her hand at nail painting (not actually much easier) or coming to terms with the pervasive sparkles filling their home, it's all so far from sleepless nights and tears, and that's all that really matters. Junmi hasn't asked in a long while if Zitao can describe how she feels, but it hasn't really felt necessary when she's been glowing from the inside out.

Zitao blinks down at Junmi when the grip on her hand suddenly turns squeezing. If she's really flagging then Zitao wouldn't say no to maybe coming back with Jungin next week, but this lack of stamina for a few hours shopping, honestly. "Are you sure?"

Junmi nods. "Totally sure." She readjusts her bag on her shoulder so she can take Zitao's hand in both of her own. Junmi doesn't pull, but Zitao instinctively leans in. For a moment Zitao wonders if she's going to go in for a kiss, but Jackson bowls into them before she gets to find out. He's highly intolerant of any gross smushy stuff when he's single himself.

"I would like to get home sometime this week though," he says with another emphatic shake of all the bags. "What's next on the list? Shoes? A ballgown?"

"Underwear," Zitao replies just to see what colour Jackson turns. Green. Very pretty.

" _Ugh._ " Jackson squares his shoulders and stamps off a few paces ahead of them. It's not like they took the car here, _technically_ he's a free man.

"We'd better go after him," Junmi says, though all she does is slow down further to wrap an arm around Zitao's waist.

"Mm," Zitao agrees with minus enthusiasm. Jackson's a big puppy — he'll be back as soon as he misses having someone to talk to, which is generally under a minute. "We should probably feed him soon. Bad things start happening when he's overdue."

Junmi's arm tightens around Zitao's waist, drawing her in nearer so Junmi can muffle a laugh against her shoulder. "I'll protect you," she says fondly, pressing a quick kiss there.

When Zitao looks up from returning the gesture, a little peck to the top of Junmi's head, Jackson is nowhere in sight. They probably should get going, even if a little slower than before with Junmi's arm securely hooked around Zitao.

"I know," Zitao says. She feels totally sure, too.


End file.
